


Of Eol & Aredhel

by gamil



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2018-10-04 12:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 45,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10277813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamil/pseuds/gamil
Summary: This is the tale of Eol and Aredhel from a different perspective. Some may like it and others not so much. As the author I can only hope that many shall read it. I hope you enjoy the story.





	1. Chapter One

OF EOL AND AREDHEL

Chapter One...

To say that their welcome had been a grand affair would have been a little off the mark. It was more, or seemed more to Aredhel who had lived in Gondolin since its inception and knew what grand affairs were like in the city. These were mainly festivals that the Gondolindrim were wont to celebrate such as the Birth of Flowers with the coming of Spring, the Gates of Summer at the coming of Summer and at the Gathering Of Fruits at Autumn. A great ceremony also was held once a year at the Gar Ainion (The Place Of The Gods), a square in the city nigh to the palace, where statues of the Vala were carved, vaulting high into the air and casting long shadows over the elves who stood upon the glistening marble floor, commemorating them in celebration. To these the people of Gondolin would attend in their multitudes, and so it had been when Aredhel and Maeglin had come.   
It all seemed like a dream to Maeglin that begun from the moment they had issued from the shadows of the Orfalch Ethor, and passing through the six gates, looked upon the great plain of Tumladen stretching before them. There they were given horses and had ridden with an escort of riders clad in gleaming mail, bearing tokens of their guard upon their surcoats; the Eagle, the White Tree and the Gold. It felt strange to Maeglin to be in the company of such noble looking elves who were as lords in his eyes, and far above the few secretive Sindar he had known from home. He looked down at his own attire, dour grey of cloth and cloak, and wayworn from long travel, and felt a little vulgar in their company. He looked at his mother who rode ahead of him. She had thrown her grey hood back and let loose her raven hair to billow in the winds of her speed, and her voice was high and laughter loud and gay as she conversed freely with those who rode beside her. At least she was happy, thought Maeglin with an inward smile, unperturbed by dress or nerves as he was. She had not been happy for a long while, being filled with melancholy for home and her people, and he had been filled with a burning desire to see this Ondolindë that she spoke of with such fervour and praise. And he had every right to come here, no matter what his father's selfish decrees would dictate. The Noldor were as much his people as the Sindar, and he would not be sundered from both peoples as his father ultimately willed, to spend his life living rudely in the dark forests of Nan Elmoth while the blood of a kingly house coursed through his veins.

The rider to the right of Maeglin caught his attention as he veered his grey steed closer to his path. He rode well, sitting upright in his saddle with reins in one hand and the other rested upon his steely thigh. A great Eagle was embossed upon his black surcoat and his great cloak trailed behind, flapping in the winds. Taryano was his name and he was a guard of the fourth gate, the Gate of Writhen Iron.

"So you are the son of the Lady Irissë," he said when he was near enough for easy speech.

"I am," replied Maeglin with pride.

Taryano smiled and nodded. "It is well indeed that our Lady has returned, and moreso as she comes with the latest scion to the house of Nolofinwe. It shall be quite a welcome you shall receive in the city."

Maeglin felt a thrill at his words, and looked to the city that was still far away, a gleaming jewel of white stone that sat atop a black band that rose from a sea of green. He had no idea of what to expect, what he would see, how he would be received, or indeed how he would take it all. Yesterday he had been a simple son of a smith, living in another world that was wider, yet darker and grimmer. However, through the tunnel under the mountains had suddenly opened up a world of light and beauty that he was just beginning to comprehend. And he was to be a prince within this new paradise. He trembled a little at the thought and turned his eyes back to the road ahead, sighing an attempt to quell his rising nerves.  
About them, the green grasses of the plain were strewn many sweet smelling flowers such as star-like Uilos that dotted the landscape in snowy groves, and Maeglin saw that many rivulets of flowing silver lay spread upon Tumladen, and with elven sight he could descry numerous waterfalls plunging from the heights of the Echoriath to feed them. Many pools there were upon the plain, deep and clear, thickly hedged by tall reeds wherein long-legged birds nested and waded for fish. There also lay pathways criss-crossing the plain, paved it seemed with white stone that gleamed in the sunlight, as if some humongous titan of old had drawn an intricate pattern with chalk upon the green canvas. In the distance were elves walking upon these roads; soldiery trekking to far outposts nestled within the folds of the mountains maybe, or city-folk journeying at their leisure.

"Who are they?" asked Maeglin, pointing to a group afar off that was heading north.

Taryano shaded his grey eyes. "They are soldiery such as myself. Guards assigned to our northern outposts that lie hidden in the high passes. And those are some of our best men who are as hardy as they come, for their detail lies in the most lofty and treacherous places about the city, since the Echoriath rise to their greatest height in the cold north."

Indeed it seemed so as Maeglin saw, for the jagged tops of the Echoriath seemed to pierce the very sky, and many of their craggy spear-like fingers were wreathed by wisps of high cloud.  
"Are there many outposts about the city?" asked Maeglin.

"There are," replied Taryano. "The eyes of the Ondolindrim are watching all about the heights that surround us. Neither elf nor man, beast or creature of Morgoth could enter the ring unheeded."  
Maeglin looked up about him again, but there was doubt in his eyes. For if that were true then there had to be hundreds of outposts that were perched upon lofty places. Looking now at the gargantuan fence, he did not think every nook and cranny of its mountainous stone could be espied for such a feat. Taryano however noted his look and smiled.  
"Perhaps you think the Echoriath cannot be surveyed by elven sight alone and maybe you would be right. Yet other guardians we have to aid us." He pointed to the etching upon his surcoat.

"The eagles!" exclaimed Maeglin.

"Indeed," Taryano replied. "They have their eyries up there and though you may not see them for they fly high indeed, yet they see all with ease." He looked up to the blue sky. "Ceaseless is their vigilance and we are most thankful for it. So do we honour them, and I as do many are most proud to wear their pattern upon my breast."

So they spoke as they rode on across the great plain, and Taryano answered many questions as to what Maeglin saw or explanations of what he should expect. And Taryano asked Maeglin of the outside world beyond the Echoriath, for few tidings ever came to the people of Gondolin save the King and his counsellors, by the tidings of Thorondor.

"I fear I can tell you little of the outerlands," said Maeglin to Taryano's questioning. "For I have lived a sheltered life, knowing only the dark forests of Nan Elmoth, where grow the tallest Mallorn trees in all of Beleriand." He did not wish to speak of Nogrod or Belegost, the dwarf realms he had visited with Eol, for fear of pushing their talk towards explanations about his father.

"Those trees I have seen," said Taryano. "For they grow well in the city."

"I do not doubt it," Maeglin replied. "For I deem that all that grows fair in the outer lands, thrives here in this enchanted land."

Taryano laughed. "A few perhaps but certainly not all," he said. A moment passed and his face became thoughtful. "Nan Elmoth! That is a strange place to dwell, as is the fact that you have not visited any of the realms of the Noldor. I would have thought you to have seen the dwellings of the Feanorrim at least, as the sons of Feanaro are old friends of our Lady."

Maeglin's face darkened. Visions now came unbidden of Eol's grim face and stern commands that denied him and his mother all contact with any of the Noldor. "My father had no wish for me to meet with them," he said aloud to himself. Yet even as he uttered the words, unease arose in him, as he had failed to steer clear of talk about his father. For Aredhel had told him before they entered the secret tunnel that he should not speak of Eol to anyone, at least not before she had time to broach the subject with the King.

But it seemed Taryano misread his words. "It may be well that he did not let you go to them," he said. "For the people of Feanaro are fey and wilful, and the shadow lies heavily upon them. Perhaps the wise sense to shun them came upon our Lady at last, begging your pardon." Maeglin did not answer, hoping the questioning would cease, or that they would speak of other things. But Taryano's furrowed brow belied such a hope. "You have spoken of your father," he said. "Yet I wonder much about him as do others. For who is he, and why is he not come with his wife and son?"

Maeglin's heart sank for how would he answer such a question? Even if he was permitted to, he would not know where to begin. Yet being forbidden to say aught was just as perplexing. For what lie could he give. Should he say his father was dead? Nay, that would not do. For his mother was sure to tell the King the truth and that would be an embarrassing contradiction once all of Gondolin knew, which in time they most surely would. Maeglin grit his teeth in frustration. He and his mother should have planned fully what they would say if asked such a question but they had not, so excited was Aredhel to return. He glanced at her, riding ahead and in deep conversation with Vanëandur, the leader of their escort. What had she told him concerning her husband. Had the matter even come up? He turned to Taryano's questioning face and forced a weak smile, thinking furiously of what to say. How he wished the conversation had stayed with their talk of distant realms and peoples outside of Gondolin's knowledge. Then it came to him to tell the truth... well as much of it that he could.

"My father is an elf of the Sindar," said Maeglin, striving for an expression that did not betray his inner turmoil. "He did not come with us for he was away from home. Yet he knew of our intent and may follow when he is able."

"I see," said Taryano, looking away thoughtfully. They cantered on for a while, but Maeglin kept turning to Taryano, wondering as to his silence. Soon it was his turn for inquisitiveness.

"What are you thinking," Maeglin asked. "Do you doubt my answer?"

Taryano turned to him in surprise. "Nay, nay, I doubt you not at all. Yet I think now of our Lady as I knew her before."

Maeglin lightened at that. "Tell me what she was like," he asked eagerly.

"Oh no," said Taryano with a smile. "I would not presume to speak so freely of our Lady to the sister-son of the King."

"Nay, that will not do," said Maeglin. "I have answered all you have asked of me and now I would bid you do the same."

Taryano sighed. "Very well, yet know that I mean no offence to your father in what I say."

"Then say on," said Maeglin impatiently.

"Well, the Lady Irissë was proud and fearless," said Taryano, "thinking little of the pastimes of women but rather following the passions of men. For she loved to ride with the hunt upon the plain, or spent time trekking the passes of the mountains with the most hardy of our men-folk. Of such were her friends and admirers, and those were many throughout the realm. Great noble lords of the Ondolindrim who were unwed vied for her but to none did she give her favour. And when she sought the Feanorrim we all thought that she had made her choice to wed maybe one of their great lords with whom she had long been friends. Yet to hear that the queenly Lady Irissë is wed to one of the Sindar and dwelt in Nan Elmoth is not what we expected. Your father must be great and noble indeed to have finally won the heart of Ar-Feiniel, where so many others of high standing had failed."

"My father is no rude elf of the wood," said Maeglin with a hint of offence taken. "He is of the royal line of Doriath, and kinsman to King Thingol. Yet he too chose to leave that fair realm to wander the wilds and settle apart, as did my mother. Perhaps that is what brought them together, an elusive drive within them that few others may understand save them alone. A smith he is, yet of a noble kind, and worthy of a princess of the Calaquendi." Maeglin realised he were saying more than he should, but Taryano's words came from a proud mind that would scorn Eol, who for all their estrangement was still his father whom he was bound to honour.

Taryano turned away and bowed his head. "As I said, I mean no offence to your father or the Sindar. We live with a great many of them here, and we have lived in peace and respect for each other. I spoke rather from what we knew of the Lady Irissë's mood, and not from my own beliefs. For I myself am wed to a woman of the Sindar. Aerdis she is named, more fair than words can say and the greatest joy to my heart. Nay, mistake me not that I would offend the Sindar."

Maeglin looked at him and smiled. "I hear you friend Taryano," he said. "I bid you to speak freely and you did, giving me insight as to my mother that I never had, and for that I am thankful."

Taryano gave a nod and they continued on in silence. They were more than halfway to the city and the plain were now lined and divided by long hedgerows that enclosed vast corn-fields and laden orchards. The smell of citrus was in the air. Now as they came ever nearer to the city, the road seemed to broaden somewhat, and about a league away from the base of the hill the road suddenly widened to a duality with a green strip in the middle where was planted a lush green hedgerow of closely spaced shrubs. The highway was kerbed by grey pebbles and at equally spaced intervals rose tall white pillars.  
And so they came to the hill of Amon Gwareth itself where was nestled the city. It rose even as a mountainous mound of rock from what seemed to be a great lake, rising more than a thousand feet into the air, and Maeglin stared in wonder. Huge masses of black stone etched with mighty crevices and sheer walls greeted his sight, but the rock was smooth, so smooth it glistened in the rays of the midday sun. Through many shadowy folds and wide ravines could be seen flows of falling water, fed from the heights and rushing down broad stony staircases to the lake below. And crowning the great mound were the walls of the city, shining white and standing two hundred feet tall, to high parapets and towers. No more could Maeglin see and so he looked to the road ahead. They had reached a great bridge that spanned the moat-like waters of the ancient lake to clasp the hill of stone and continue on as a broad path that was cut into the hillside and curved southward as it rose. The company halted as a contingent of guards who stood by the bridge entrance now came forward to meet them.

"Hail, Lady Irissë," said the foremost of them. His armour was of the same make as Taryano, but his surcoat and cloak were blue, and embossed upon his chest were two trees, one silver and the other gold. "It is a delight to see your return home." He halted before Aredhel, looking up at her with a smile.

"It is good to return, Rámavoitë," said Aredhel, "after years of absence in the wide lands about." She looked up at the walls of the city, shining high against the clear blue sky. "You do not know how often I yearned for Ondolindë and its people."

"Well you may yearn for your land no longer, my Lady," Rámavoitë replied. "as you are now returned to grace it. And now by your leave I shall lead you over the bridge to where lord Ecthelion awaits you. With him you shall trek the final path to the West Gate, where you may find a great host that is ready to welcome you home."

"Then all is well," Aredhel replied. "You may lead when ready."

Rámavoitë then turned to Vanëandur, the leader of their escort. "You and your men may return to the Orfalch Ethor."

Vanëandur nodded and gave his salutations of parting to Aredhel and Maeglin as did the others before turning their horses back towards the west.

"Well, here I must leave you, my lord," said Taryano, coming close beside the prince.

My lord he said, thought Maeglin with surprise. How strange it was to be called that by one so noble and high, guard though he was. But then all the guards of Gondolin seemed above him in bearing and courtesy. He then began to understand somewhat the proud attitudes of the Noldor, who saw themselves as the glorious Calaquendi who were above the Moriquendi in all manner of ways, be it of culture, of learning or even prowess. Yet could one blame them after seeing what they could contrive in Middle-earth. His eyes looked up to the tall white walls again. A jealous hatred had ruled his father's mood towards the Noldor but he would not emulate his father's belief. He could not, for he was a prince of those proud people. Had not Taryano just called him lord? He liked that...he liked that a lot. Maeglin smiled at the thought.

"I thank you for your kind company," he then said, turning to the guard, "and hope we meet again soon."

"I doubt that," said Taryano with a grin, "for my livelihood is the Gate of Writhen Iron, far from the city, to which I seldom come."

"Yet if you do fare here, I bid you seek me out and we should speak again of Gondolin and her stories." said Maeglin.

"You speak as one of us who are but servants to the realm," said Taryano gravely. "Yet you are of the house of Nolofinwe whose word rules here. Others you shall come to know who are worthy of your stature and you shall soon forget the name Taryano. Yet I am glad to have met and spoken with you as you are fair spoken and eager. Therefore I wish you joy and good fortune within our realm." He bowed his head. "Farewell, my lord." With that, he spurred his horse forward, turning back to follow his receding companions.

"I see that you have already made a friend," said Aredhel, coming beside him upon her white horse.

"I do not know," replied Maeglin as he watched their escort ride away. "We spoke freely all the way here, yet as soon as we halted he called me lord, and seemed to place a distance of obligation between us."

Aredhel smiled. "Indeed," she said. "For he is obligated to serve you as you are his prince. He honours you as all shall when we are come home. Does that bother you?"

Maeglin thought for a moment and sighed, turning to his mother."I do not know," he said. "Thoughts I had of what you used to tell me. Vague images and flights of fancy that were based upon your words. But now that I am actually here it seems like a strange dream that exists within the waking world. Far grander is all I surmised and that is disquieting to say the least." He turned to point at the hill of stone and the city that lay atop it. "See now the vision before me! An image of a City of Gods to my humble eyes. That I should be a lord of such a place..." He faltered, overcome with some emotion, but Aredhel took his hand and kissed it.

"First and foremost, you are my son," she said, holding his hand to her cheek. "Since birth we have been together, you and I, and over the years I have seen you grow into the man you have become."

"And what have I become?" asked Maeglin, truly needing to know the answer.

"You have become a man worthy of the princedoms of both the Sindar and the Noldor," she replied. "All here can see that with ease, and some have said as much already. You must not doubt yourself in the face of such wonders, for they were made by your people and not some alien race that is beyond your comprehension. Humble we may have been in Nan Elmoth, yet I will speak no ill of your father, nor of his possessions or wealth. That is not why I loved him, and I will honour Eol in my heart forever. Yet you deserved to know the other side of it. To know your Noldorin brethren and revel in their achievements in the glory appointed to you by way of birth and blood. I will never regret bringing you here against the will of your father. That quarrel is for me to face in my conscience, but not for you to be affected by in your heart. This is a new beginning for you my son and I would have you live up to it. Therefore do not be daunted by what or whom you see here, but come forward and embrace it all as a worthy lord who returns home to his inheritance."

Maeglin looked in silence at his mother for a moment before a grin appeared on his face. She was right of course, as usual. Rude were his dwellings before and of little account was his father within the company of kings, yet he had royal blood in him, and it was Noldorin blood too. Mighty were that people in Middle-earth, both proud and valiant. From now on he would strive to live up to his peers. He would not fail his mother or himself. Nor, as an afterthought would he disgrace his father, for all his jealous hatred of the Noldor.

Maeglin gave a nod and Aredhel brought his head forward and kissed his brow. Then she turned to the guards who had walked a little way off to afford them privacy. "Rámavoitë!" she cried. "We are ready."

They began forward, walking their horses behind Rámavoitë and four others. The great bridge was made of white stone and had six arches spanning the water of the vast moat whose shimmering waters rippled over a dark blue of great depth. Tall white columns rose at intervals from the bridge's balustraded edges, atop which blue flags hung. But at the centre of the bridge, the two opposing pillars ended in large white orbs, which would cast a silver light upon the bridge and the deep waters below at night. Approaching the far side of the bridge, Maeglin saw more guards awaiting them, and one who sat upon a chestnut stallion. He was Ecthelion, Warden of the Golden Gate. Maeglin had met him before beneath the Orfalch Ethor, yet though he was the warden, Ecthelion had ridden himself to the city with all haste, so great were the tidings of Aredhel's return. Now he awaited them with a broad smile upon his fair and noble face; a lordly figure who was silver clad, and upon his shining helm was set a spike of steel, pointed with a diamond.

"The city awaits you my Lady," he said as he turned his horse forward.

Thereafter the road bore into the side of the hillside, with a rising cliff face to the left and a sheer drop hundreds of feet going down upon the right. But that side was bordered by slender balustrades, decorated with traceries and garlanded by hanging lamps and smooth orbs. Up the road went as the plain fell away beneath them, so that Maeglin could see it in all its western vastness, patterned by long hedgerows and dark blue pools. The climbing road turned left ahead, and another lofty bridge stood before them, spanning a wide gorge where a great rushing water flowed that spilled from a mighty waterfall that issued from within a yawning dark recess within Amon Gwareth's high shoulders. They passed over and the road turned south westward atop a broad shelf of rock whose cliffs to the left fell away to a rocky tumble of level plateau. Here the road became broad again, almost as wide as the highway far below, and many pillars of gold rose upon either side of it, with large orbs that emitted golden light after dark. The city walls stood before them, grandiose in their vaulting glory. And mighty towers cast their shadow over the threshold of the West Gate whose wall was built of white marble, and the parapet was made of pearl, and in the midst was set an image of Laurelin, the Tree of the Sun, wrought of gold, and the White Tree Telperion, wrought of silver and malachite. The Gate itself was adorned with discs of blue sapphire, set amid devices of blue topaz and moonstone and beryls. Hemming the Gate were two towers of great height, many-windowed, and tapering to a turret of bright steel.

Already a great throng stood there, and it surrounded them as they dismounted and passed under the mighty towers of the West Gate. The airs were filled with cries of "Irissë!" as they walked the climbing road that was the King's Way, that led directly to the very doors of the palace. Friends and acquaintances of old converged upon Aredhel with embraces of joy at her return unlooked for, as word ran like fire through the city. Maeglin walked beside his mother in silence, his eyes roving about his surroundings, full of wonder at the beauty of the city, and awe at the multitudes of elves such as he had never seen, being used only to the few who served Eol in the dark of Nan Elmoth.  
Trumpets blew from high walls and tall slender towers, and elves sang in their happiness while children laughed and ran about them in their glee, not knowing the two strangers now come but full of cheer at the festive mood of their elders. The sun shone bright and glad over the vale and city, brightening the white walls of the fair houses that sat in their rows beside the broad road, paved with glistening stones of colourful hues and kerbed with white marble. And green gardens and courts Maeglin espied from afar, where shimmering silver fountains played, and flowers in a cacophony of colour filled the airs with sweetened scents. He heard his name here and there upon the lips of smiling strangers, and saw elves pointing his way as they told one another that here was the son of Irissë, and that he looked fair and worthy of the house of Nolofinwe. All this passed before him as they went ever upward, and came finally to the Square of the King that stood before the doors of the palace. There lay green lawns amid marble paths and wide fountains whose waters sprang fifty metres into the air in a glorious waterfall of crystalline loveliness. And many Poplar trees stood there and Oak werein birds of the whiteness of snow twittered and piped in the leafy shade. A great well of vast depth and great purity of water sat beneath their bows and many of the King's Guard stood about it, arrayed in silver armour and white cloaks. Emblazoned upon their leather surcoats were the likenesses of the two trees, Laurelin and Telperion of old. But looking towards the mighty oaken doors of the palace, Maeglin saw that upon either side were two trees, one that bore a blossom of gold and the other of silver. Those trees the people of Gondolin named Glingol and Bansil, nor did they ever fade, for they were wrought by the craft of Turgon himself in honour of the Two Trees of Valinor that lit the Blessed Realm before Melkor and Ungoliant withered them, and Maeglin gasped at their splendour. 

Now Aredhel and Maeglin climbed the white steps that led to the doors and here were met by Turgon himself, robed in white with a belt of gold, and a coronet of garnets, and who could scarce contain his joy and delight at his sister's unexpected return.

"Irissë!" he cried, coming forward with outstretched arms to embrace her. "How come you here beyond all hope?" He kissed her cheek. 

"I came as I left," Aredhel replied with a grin. "By foot and by steed."

"Do not jest sister," said Turgon with a fading smile. "You were lost to us...to me. The news came that the darkness of Nan Dungortheb took you. You cannot know of my grief, for I did warn you not to go, and when I finally assented, unwilling I might add, I told you to seek rather our father and brother in Hithlum. Yet to choose the ancient dwarf road that goes east past the Valley of Dreadful Death! Why Irissë, why?"

"Why not?" came her defiant reply. "Did I not say I would go as seemed good to me beyond your bounds?"

"But the sons of Feanaro?' said Turgon, shaking his head. "I would not have approved had I known of your intent beforehand."

"And that is why I did not tell you," Aredhel replied, broadening her grin.

Turgon sighed but his smile returned as he clasped her shoulders and stood her back, gazing at her in his happiness. "But it is good to see you again, sweet sister," he said.

"And it is good to be back, my brother," she replied. "And I have brought another who is glad to look upon the beauty of Gondolin." She turned her head to the young elf who stood at her side.

Turgon followed her gaze. "And who is this?" he asked.

Aredhel opened her mouth but her son spoke first. "I am Maeglin Lomion, son of Aredhel and Eol. I have come serving as protector to my mother and as a kinsman to the king. For I heard many tales of the mythic grandeur of Gondolin, the realm from whence my mother came. And as a son has the right to know the people of his mother as well as his father, I proposed the journey hence, perilous as it was, yet worth every danger. For never did I hope to witness such magnificence and beauty of both land and dwelling as I have seen here within the ring of the Echoriath."

"You have a son!" said Turgon, looking anew at the young man. His face was fair indeed like his mother and his hair was raven dark, flowing in sumptuous waves to his shoulders, and he was tall and lithe. Yet his eyes caught all notice, for they shone piercingly bright, even for one of the Noldor. Then Turgon looked upon Maeglin with liking, seeing in him one worthy to be accounted among the princes of the Noldor. He then embraced his sister-son and laughed. "Indeed, brave you are, and courteous," he said. "You have my thanks for seeing my sister's safe return. For that I am in your debt, sister-son." He turned then to Aredhel who looked proudly at Maeglin. "And I would now ask for your leave to begin to repay it."

Maeglin bowed low. "Between kin there can be no talk of debt-paying, let alone a humble elf to his venerable king."

Turgon laughed at that. "Sharp Glance" you are named but "Sweet Tongue" is nearer the mark I think." He gestured towards the great doors of his palace. "But let us leave the threshold and come into my halls. There we shall sit and speak freely, where your mother shall tell me all that has befallen her since she left her people." With a wave and a great cheer from the crowd below, they turned and entered the palace of the King.

~oOo~

Long they sat with Turgon in his chamber as Aredhel had told him of her journey; the refusal of Thingol for passage through his realm, the desperate road along the borders of Nan Dungortheb, the horrors of separation and the relief of passing through the turmoil unscathed. She spoke of the her year-long sojourn with the people of Celegorm and Curufin and her disappointment at finding them gone without return, and of her coming to Nan Elmoth. Then she spoke of her life in the shadows, speaking ever brightly of Eol and masking all that was grim and hateful of his mood towards the Noldor. Then Maeglin fell silent, who until that point had chimed in here and there on his mother's tale, but now listened with a bowed head. And when Turgon asked why Eol had not come with them, leaving his wife and son to a dark and perilous road, she said he had given them leave to come to Gondolin if he had not returned in time from his own journey to the dwarf-lands in the east. And so they had come alone after many days of waiting. If Turgon had suspected the tale not full told, he did not show it, so great was his joy at Aredhel's return.

So they had left him and were led to their quarters within the palace, and when Aredhel asked Maeglin what he thought of the city of her people he said he deemed such things were only seen in the visions of sleep, and that the dwellings of his home in Nan Elmoth were but a hovel in some obscure dark corner of the plain, so great was his amaze at the glory of Gondolin. Then for a while he left her, being taken by Idril the daughter of Turgon, who had asked that she take her cousin for a tour about the palace. Maeglin was well pleased at this, for he had taken a great liking to Idril upon seeing her standing tall and regal in her beauty, by the throne of her father. Aredhel had remained in her room in the company of Altawen, Eteminiel and Lassecantë, her maidens of old. There they spoke as women do about her doings over the years, and they were soon joined by Eristeth, Russafindë and Ranyanis, who were Aredhel's friends.

"Your son Maeglin is a fine young man," said Russafindë, a red haired lady of dark beauty much like Aredhel, and was closest to her in friendship. "Truly do you see the house of Finwe in him."

"Indeed, however we have spoken much and yet know nothing of his father," said Eristeth, a fair haired woman of the Sindar.

The ladies all sat silent, staring expectantly at Aredhel who seemed to fidget, wringing her hands with eyes lowered.

"What are you hiding from us, Irissë?" asked Russafindë, eyeing her closely.

"I hide nothing," said Aredhel. She paused, unsure of how to proceed. These were her friends of old, women she had known since childhood save Eristeth whom she knew from Vinyamar. They had always spoken freely of all that troubled them, their hopes and desires, their secrets and musings. She could trust them of course, but she felt loathe to tell them of Eol. For they might wean the truth out of her if she lied or did not tell all... she knew they would. For in being dear friends for so long, they could sense an untruth among each other quite easily. Aredhel opened her mouth but no words came.

"Why is it so hard to speak of him?" asked Ranyanis, who was the noble wife of Galdor, Lord of the House of the Tree. "You are so mysterious."

Aredhel sighed. "He is of the Sindar," she said in a lowly voice.

"The Sindar!" said Eristeth with pleasant surprise. "Who would have thought you to wed one of my people."

"And why is that difficult to believe?" replied Aredhel sharply, a little offended by the implication. "When have I ever said that I would prefer a Noldorin lord over the Sindar? Have we not dwelt together, your people and mine for many years, joining our peoples in blessed marriage on many fair occasions."

"That has happened," said Russafindë. "Yet we are still surprised, for of all the men that you befriended or showed favour to, those of the Noldor were ever closest to your heart."

"And you have injured many a noble heart," said Ranyanis with a grin. "My poor lord Ecthelion for instance. Long did he pine for you after you were lost."

The others laughed as Aredhel blushed and turned away. "You need not jest, Ranyanis," she muttered.

Ranyanis feigned a look of shock. "I do not jest, nor do I lie," she cried. "Galdor told me as much, for they are good friends and speak even as we do of things that deeply matter to them."

"I heard Ecthelion flew over Tumladen like a gale to deliver the news of your return, so eager was he," said Russafindë to more laughter.

"Ladies please!" said Aredhel, and their laughter died upon their lips when they saw how solemn and troubled she seemed.

"What is wrong Irissë?" asked Eristeth, laying a gentle hand upon Aredhel's knee.

"There is much that we do not yet understand about this Sindarin Elf," said Russafindë, coming to sit beside her friend and lay her arm over Aredhel's shoulder to comfort her. "Speak to us now," she said softly. "Who is this elf who has you so troubled?"

"And why has he not come with you, my lady?" asked Lassecantë.

"Questions, questions, and yet more questions," said Aredhel as she shrugged away Russafindë's arm, stood and went to the open window that looked over the Square of the King. The hour of dusk had come and the westering sun had passed under the jagged tips of the mountains. The light was ruddy and the shadows lay long and dark upon the city and about the vale. Lights were springing up in towers and houses, over the streets and hanging above gardens and terraces, twinkling in hues of pale silver, shimmering in pools of blue and flaming yellow. There were still many people milling about the paths of the Square, or seated in talkative groups by the fountains or gathered upon the green lawn about the well and Aredhel need not have guessed what had them chatter so excitedly. She should have been warmed by her reception, yet the questions...simple questions that came with hard answers. My husband is a Sindarin elf, she thought to herself, who hates all the Noldor and whose son I stole. Aredhel almost gasped. That was the first time she had thought that way, that she had stolen Maeglin. But no, he was her son too and she had just as much right to him as Eol. He was at fault for forcing her into such an act, keeping her prisoner for all those years without any hope of seeing her kin again. But she was a princess of a great realm and no mere daughter of peasantry. She would not be thwarted by any man.

Aredhel sighed. Why then did she feel so wretched. She had beaten Eol and escaped had she not? She turned around to the concerned stares of her friends. She knew she had to tell them something...maybe the whole truth. They would understand, wouldn't they? She made up her mind and opened her mouth to speak, but just then she heard faint voices coming from outside. Aredhel whirled about and saw a figure talking in haste to the guards of the Square. He wore the Gold Tree upon his breast, and that meant he had come all the way from the Sixth Gate. Aredhel's eyes widened and her heart began to pound with a growing dread. Now the messenger was running towards the palace doors, his long golden cloak streaming after him as he passed under her sight. Aredhel clutched at the window sill staring blindly at the growing dark of outdoors. She muttered words she did not hear as she leaned upon the window almost in a faint. Swift arms took hold of her and gently eased her down to sit upon her bed nearby. She could only feel but not see. Only shadows in a grey room with dim candle light. She felt her trembling lips moving, felt the utterances of her voice but could not hear what she was saying. Many faces appeared before her with lips moving as wordlessly as her own. She could not hear, she could not see, she could not understand. Nay, she would not let herself understand, for she could not face the answer to her fear. But she knew. Yes, deep down she knew what had happened. Then the darkness took her senses and she fainted.

Aredhel's maidens stood by in meek confusion and concern. Some strange fit of anxiety had overcome their Lady and they watched with wide eyes as her three friends sought to comfort and revive her.

"A damp cloth!" cried Russafindë to the staring trio, as she cradled Aredhel's head in her lap whilst gently stroking her long raven locks. Ranyanis loosened the silver belt about her white gown. Eristeth sat nearby, holding Aredhel's hand tightly in her own. Eteminiel dashed away for a dish with cold water while Altawen went for a cloth. Lassecantë went to the window to look out, for something outside had severely affected her Lady. But there was nothing to see save a group of guards at the Square's entrance. It seemed they were pointing to the window as they spoke to each other.

"What do you see?" asked Ranyanis as she rose and joined Lassecantë by the window to peer out.

"There is nothing," said Lassecantë, very much perturbed. "What could have made her so?" she asked softly.

"She kept muttering something under her breath," said Eristeth, rubbing Aredhel's hand with her own.

"He is come," said Russafindë, cupping Aredhel's face in her hands and looking down upon her with worry and unease. "She said Eol has come."

~oOo~

Aredhel sat tensely in her chamber, wringing her hands in agitation. She had come to her senses under the anxious gaze of her friends who after her reassurances of sound health began to ask who Eol was. She did not answer, flustered at first by their use of his name until she understood that that was what she had been saying to herself before her swoon. Then she had swiftly dismissed them all, saying she needed to rest after long journeying. Russafindë was having none of that until Aredhel told them the truth. He was her husband. This only brought more questions to which she said that all would soon be revealed to them. She promised it. However, that did little to appease them and they would not leave until Aredhel had had enough and ordered them to go. But only with the assurance that none would speak to the King of all that had passed in her chamber. She would speak to Turgon as soon as she were able. They had all left her then, with worrisome glances and confused stares.

Now she was alone with her addled thoughts, wondering how all would turn out. Maeglin had not returned, obviously oblivious to their plight. How pitiless Fate had been to her and her son. To give her joy and relief for less than a day before snatching that away with the ill turn; Eol had come! She knew it. How he had managed it, she attempted to guess. He must have returned early from his journey to the dwarflands. But why? Some premonition must have prematurely guided him home. Yes that was it. His mistrust had counselled him of the abandonment that might occur. Yet she had given Eol no cause for doubt, knowing how to screen her thought to his subtle mind. Nay, the fault must lay with Maeglin, she thought. They must have had words ere he left, and Eol upon reflection was sure to have picked out a misplaced comment or two in their quarrelling. Perhaps it were a wish spoken in frustration, or a threat spoken in anger, for Maeglin could ill contain himself when he and his father spoke with raised voices concerning his hopes and desires. Long had these things lain between father and son, and a wide gulf of bitterness and mistrust had developed, where once had been love and respect.

Yes, Eol must have embarked upon his journey ill at ease that his foremost command to his wife and son should be thwarted and denied. To remain in Nan Elmoth and never seek out the Noldor of any house, let alone the realm of his wife's people. Aredhel frowned a little as she marvelled at how long she had obeyed that grim rule. How she had thought little of it, being enamoured of her new surroundings, her new home, and of her husband. Her husband. She thought of him now; his tall posture that belied his livelihood of constant bowing at the forge. She had loved to tease him of this and that had always brought out his smile. A smile upon a stern and proud face that was not grim to look upon and even handsome when he let mirth govern his mood. And what of his fair Sindarin hair, always tied back into a pony-tail that fell to his waist. Such a style was fit for the forge but she had loved to undo his hair and wash it after his labours, and tenderly braid it about his ears and let the rest fall free about his face and shoulders. Then noble and fair he seemed, and with a bright look of those piercing blue eyes and mirth upon his face, he would seem even as one of the lords of the Vanyar to her. Then she would tremble with joy, and with desire.

Her heart ailed a little at the thought. She had fled from him for her son's sake and for her own, but did that mean she did not love him anymore? No. She had loved Eol wholeheartedly, fiercely even. Such a love does not die...does not fade. And even there, in the heart of Gondolin and far away from the confines of the dark shadows of home and spouse, she realised that she missed him, and felt a little thrilled by his coming. Perhaps not all was lost. Perhaps the situation were not as dire as she thought. He may yet yield to Turgon and accept the Light for her sake, as she had for him when she chose the Dark. But Eol was proud, and had a real hatred for the Noldor. Nay, he would not yield, she thought, picturing him standing before the king of his enemies and being told to remain within the confines of the Echoriath forever. For that was the law of this land that she was sure Turgon would seek to proclaim.

Aredhel sighed. Why did Eol follow them? He knew of the Doom of Gondolin for she had told him of it many times. What did he hope to achieve? Then she knew. It all came back to Maeglin. Eol could have let her fly back to the coop, for only a claim of love had he over her. But love can wane, grievous though that was. However, to Maeglin he was bonded by blood and that he would never forsake, not for any king or law. Such was surely the reason for his relentless pursuit. But Aredhel had to tell herself yet again that not all was lost...not yet. She may still speak with Eol and yet persuade him, plead with him if needs be to abide by the King's will. But again in her heart she did not believe he would yield. Not to her or to anyone. She knew that Eol was perilous, and evermore so when it came to her people. Yet to what dark end the situation would lead, she could not tell. She could only hope for the perceived evil to be averted, somehow...anyhow. However, she could not think of a solution, no matter how hard she tried, and so she continued to do what she was known for when she was tense and full of disquiet. She sat alone, wringing her hands in agitation. 

~oOo~

Eol's bonds felt tight, chaffing at his wrists as the binding ropes dug into his skin. He had a maddening urge to scratch at the itch his bonds made, but he couldn't. It was one more affront that he was now forced to bear. They had walked far, Eol and his three captors, and he was wearied from the forced march. Yet he had journeyed far longer before his capture, but that had been on horseback, riding day and night without rest until his horse had begun to stumble upon the pathless wilds, frothing at the mouth as he was cruelly spurred on within the chase. The horse had finally stumbled and fallen soon after Eol had sighted his quarry from afar; two figures picking their way in the shadows among the tumbled hills that lay at the feet of the towering mountains of the Echoriath. Eol had cursed the forlorn animal as it whinnied upon the ground, rolling and heaving its torso in a pitiful effort to rise to its feet. Yet its efforts failed, strong at first yet weakening with every strain until it lay still, braying and wheezing through its flaring nostrils in exhausted defeat. Eol had looked down at the animal with frustrated anger at first. He was so close to his prey, so close that he would have been upon them had his horse's strength upheld. But now they would get away, eluding him within the rocky folds of the land. He had drawn his sword and without hesitation, hewn the horse's head clean off with a single stroke. The horse was dead...his horse was dead. Why did he now think of it as that horse. Did it not have a name? Had it not spent many years in his faithful service as his sturdy companion upon many journeys. Eol marvelled that he strove to remember... then it came to him. Daeroch...that was it. A wave of sorrow hit him unexpectantly and he stumbled himself, causing one of his captors to look at him.

"I think we should rest awhile," Nyarindo said to Ohtarion and Rehtano who walked ahead of him and Eol. They halted and turned to him with questioning looks but he gestured to their prisoner. "He stumbles," he explained as he guided Eol's rope that he held and pulled him away from the road they trod to the lush greensward beside and bid him sit down. Eol gave him a dark look but did not refuse the command. His limbs needed the rest.

He sat with his head bowed between his knees and closed his eyes. Then the memories came, faded visions of his recent past. Apparitions of his wife and of his son, his family that had once smiled at him, jested with him, loved him... yet now had betrayed him. Their faces mocked his thought with their voices. "Father," he heard the dark haired youth say. "Teach me more." The face contorted and reshaped itself into one more beautiful. "Come my love, let us walk under the stars." The face brightened as it smiled, setting his mind aglow with its beauty. The clear grey eyes, the delicate nose, the shapely mouth, the glorious cascade of midnight hair that waved about the face, hiding it coyly, alluringly, then brushing aside to reveal laughter and joy. Eol opened his parched mouth, about to call out to her when he felt a nudge upon his arm. He looked up sharply, startled at the touch, but it was Nyarindo who had squatted down beside him. He took out a pack from within the folds of his cloak and produced a loaf of bread from which he broke off a large piece and handed it over. Eol stared at the hand and the bread for a moment, his scowl returned and he had half a mind to refuse the food as he had done all through his captivity. But that would be foolish for he was famished, having finished his own supplies two days before.

"Eat," said Nyarindo, gently nudging Eol's arm again. "You look like you need it."

Eol slowly took the bread and began to eat. It was good...it was very good. Indeed, it was so good Eol would have spat it into the face of the guard had he not been so hungry. But he only chewed and swallowed, though with a little difficulty, so parched was his throat. Nyarindo looked at him intently for a while, as if trying to fathom some riddle but Eol ignored him as best he could until the irritation forced him to turn and stare back, granting Nyarindo a withering look as he gazed at him. His gilded armour glinted beneath a leather surcoat embossed with a tree that stood aflame in gold. Tall golden plumes rose from his helmet, and his great cloak was bright yellow. He and his companions were guards of the Golden Gate, and their leader was a proud lord named Ecthelion. That name filled Eol with anger as he thought of the curt and almost hostile treatment Ecthelion had given him. After long interrogation the warden had sent a messenger to the city with "doubtful tidings" as he so put it. Eol had been detained in the mighty gate towers for the night and at the break of dawn, they had begun their trek towards the city. Evidently the "doubtful tidings" had been received as truth and Eol had sneered at the proud lord at their parting. Yet so grim and wrathful had Eol been when they released him that his escort were forced to put bonds upon him again, leading him forth as a prisoner. And Ecthelion refused them horses and was thus revenged upon Eol for his sneering.

Nyarindo sat down and laid aside his long bow, ignoring Eol's black gaze. "So what passed between you and the Lady Irissë," he asked eagerly as he broke himself a morsel and ate. "There is surely a tale to be told here. Only yesterday our Lady returned to us after years of absence, for we all thought her lost, taken by the darkness of Nan Dungortheb. Then out of the shadows she reappears to our wonder, with an heir to the mighty house of Fingolfin no less."  
A tremor of anger passed through Eol at that, and many words wild and angry came to his mind. Yet he held his tongue and rather absorbed the waves of hatred that had shaken him, pushing the black thoughts deep where they would continue to fester until recalled at the right moment. He would not lash out at this lowly guard. He had loftier sights set for the release of his mounting fury.  
"The Lady Irissë is your wife and Maeglin is your son, you say," Nyarindo continued, seemingly oblivious to Eol's seething ire. "How came our Lady to wed you, and why such a return, with your wife and son coming first in relief, and you stealthily behind, grim and wayworn as you are, as if engaged in a chase to catch those twain who had fled from you?"

"Nyarindo!" called Ohtarion who sat a stones throw away with Rehtano. "Let him eat in peace."

"Can I not be curious as to our guest," Nyarindo called back. "You must admit there is a strange tale behind all of this."

"Strange tales or no, they are not for your ears or mine. He is kin to the King through marriage. Treat him as such."

"I would if he behaved the part," Nyarindo replied with eyes that roved over Eol's person with doubt, and lingered to stare at his wayworn attire and tied hands. "But this elf is dark and wild, more like to the Avari than the Sindar methinks. And so I should doubt all the more his claim to the noble hand of our fair Lady Irissë. For would she wed such as this by free will? I think not."

"Nyarindo!" cried Rehtano in irritation. "Cease your goading at once."

But Eol returned Nyarindo's aversion with a tight smile. It did not come easy, but he made the grimace as pleasant as he could. "Water," Eol then said to him. Nyarindo pulled out a waterskin and handed it to Eol who took a long swig before handing it back. The guard leaned forward to take it when Eol spat the water he drank in his face. Nyarindo blinked for a startled moment, his face dripping water, spittle and humiliation. Then he launched himself from the ground and grabbing Eol by the collar, dragged him up and shook him violently as he uttered curses in anger. The other two guards were upon them in an instant, breaking them apart with urges to cease their brawling.

"What ails you Nyarindo?" cried Rehtano as he yanked him away. "Such is not the way of the realm's guard."

"Neither is it our way to be spat upon without rebuke," Nyarindo cried in reply, shrugging off Rehtano's hold and wiping his face with his sleeve.

"Yet for this evil I hold you to blame," Rehtano said, "and if any deserves a rebuke it is you."

"Indeed, I second that," said Ohtarion as he let go of Eol. "And as I lead here I now command you to return to the Gate, shamed in your duty. Stern words we shall have when I return."

"Command as you will but this dark elf is fey and has no love for our people," said Nyarindo as he picked up his belongings. "However beware that you now bring a black speck to our fair city which would turn into a stain from which may pool an evil even the mighty realm of Gondolin may not surmount. Mark me!"

With that, he turned and left them, trudging back westward towards the Orfalch Ethor. Ohtarion and Rehtano stared after him awhile, shaking their heads, then turned to Eol who was silent, and eyeing them darkly.

 

~oOo~

"My apologies," Ohtarion said to him as he picked up the binding rope. "We walk on from here with no more halts." 

As they began forward, Ohtarion was troubled in thought. For all his misconduct, Nyarindo had a point. The dark elf was fey indeed and a dark cloud hung over him that was unsettling. Whatever may have happened out there beyond the Echoriath had now found an inroad into their secure realm and Othorion had the same wary notion that an ill wind came with this strange elf that could one day build to a raging storm. Yet by the King's command Eol was bidden to their city. Who was he to question that. He was just a simple guard after all, and far removed from the lofty counsels of the King's Court. "Let the great and wise of Gondolin deal with this portent," he thought. They would make the right decision. At least he hoped they would. He glanced at Eol and his heart sank, for the dark elf was smiling at him. But there was no mirth in those glinting eyes. There was no cheer to those sneering lips. What had the Lady Irissë seen in this elf, he wondered. He turned back to look ahead.

The path they were on had skirted the mountains to their right and led eastward towards a great spur that blocked the view forward. But now it rounded the massive outcrop and coming into view was a vast greensward with many white paved paths and roads upon it, all converging from many corners of the encircling mountains to a single point. That lay far ahead of them as a white jewel upon a single great rock of smooth shining black stone. That was the city that stood as a memorial to Tirion upon Tuna in the Blessed Realm. That was fairest Ondolinde, the Rock of the Music of Water. That was Gondolin, the Hidden Rock. The vision of his city always brought a warmth to Ohtarion's heart as he thought of its fair people, its indescribable beauty, its unrivalled majesty. "Nay," he thought as his sight shone with the glitter of the white jewel in the sun. "No darkness shall ever overcome such glory." Yet even as he thought this, he was halted by a tug of the rope he held. He turned to Eol and saw that he had halted, staring at the vision that had appeared before him. But what he saw wasn't an elf overcome by wonder and amazement at the ravishing sight. Nay, what he saw was quite the opposite. He saw an elf looking at his home with a burning hatred flaming within his terrible eyes.  
"May the Valar protect us," Ohtarion said under his breath. Yet his heart misgave him at that. For had they not disobeyed the Valar and disowned them? His prayer was vain, or perhaps worse still his prayer was sound with but a small alteration. For the Doom of the Noldor now came back to haunt him in that hour. "The Valar promised to destroy us," came the ill thought unbidden. Ohtarion sighed and tugged at the rope, a little harshly.

"On I say," he muttered as he went forward, dragging Eol towards Gondolin and its Doom.

 

Author's Commentary:  
Nothing to say except I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.  
Thanx!


	2. Chapter 2

OF EOL AND AREDHEL

Chapter Two...

Aredhel sat upon a chair by the window that overlooked the great Square of the King. She could not see beneath her, for the window sill stood higher than her sight, yet she could hear the rush of the fountains, the faint steps and steely clink of armoured guards as they patrolled the marbled lanes and the birds chirping sweetly within the boughs of the spray soaked Poplars. It was a normal morning within the city for everyone except two people...her and Maeglin. She looked at him now, sat on her bed with a bowed head, hunched shoulders and hands clasped together in his distress. They both had not slept, comforting each other in the gloom of a long night that seemed to go on forever. Maeglin had moaned; had cried out; had scolded himself in his vexation, and finally wept in self defeat. With his tears had come the first vestiges of dawn; a greying of the skies above the black jagged outline of the Echoriath to the east. Aredhel herself had been silent for much of the night, listening to her son's rantings and watching his grimaces. She had been silent because she knew not what to tell him, and she did not want to lie to him. "Everything will be alright," is what she might have said to ease his agitation. Or perhaps "I shall know how to deal with your father when he comes," is what she could have reassured to calm him. But those were both untruths. The reality was that she had no idea of what to do. Maeglin himself had not admonished her for her silence, for he knew she was just as perplexed as he. She had after all been overwhelmed by the shock of Eol's coming, and swooned to her shame. A little while later, word had indeed come to her that her husband was come and was held at the Golden Gate. The King had summoned her not long after, and they had words about Eol's unexpected arrival.

~oOo~

"You are not pleased by this news," said Turgon, watching his sister with a discerning eye.

They spoke in his council chamber; a fair sized hall of glistening white walls upon which hung many tapestries of art that displayed fair landscapes under a golden silver haze. The hall had no pillars, but fourteen statues stood there with six to the left and seven to the right of the hall. These were robed in pearl and stood eight feet tall, ominous in their carven glory with their heads looking down to the long marble table that was set at the center of the room. The statues were of the likenesses of the seven Valar and the seven Valier, and made by Autamo, Gondolin's greatest craftsman. The statues were all a shining white, save their eyes that were jewelled with differing gemstones that went with the Ainur they represented. Manwe and Varda stood opposite each other and were nearest to the threshold, and their eyes were of glittering sapphires that signified the heavens of which they ruled. Next were Aule whose opposite stood Yavanna, and in their eyes were set gleaming diamonds, the richest gems of the earth. Next stood Namo facing his spouse Vaire, and their eyes were of Obsidian. Dark was their glance of Doom that wove the strands of fates in Arda. Beside them were Orome and Vana, from whose emerald eyes burst forth the greenery of the world. Next were Irmo and Este, in whose eyes shone the white glance of Moonstone, the dreamers gem. Beside Irmo stood Tulkas opposite Nessa and in their eyes flamed yellow beryls for the fires of wrath that was Tulkas' strength and prowess, such that even Morgoth could not defy. Last in the row to the right stood Nienna but she faced an empty space for she had no spouse. And indeed her bowed head was bent to her feet and her pearly eyes had no gemstones but upon her cheeks fell a smouldering line of red rubies that were her tears and lamentations for the blood and suffering of Arda. Now the marble table was long with many chairs set beside it for the counsellors of Turgon. But his chair stood at the table's head, facing the doorway of oaken wood that was arched with golden traceries of wisdom. And hemming the doors were again the likenesses of Telperion and Laurelin carved in pure gold and silver. Behind Turgon's chair upon the wall was a great tapestry, and on it was woven an intricate scene of a white city stood upon a hill, and it was Tirion upon Tuna, the city missed by all the Noldor of Middle-earth. Before this tapestry and casting a shadow over the King's chair stood the final statue, and it was of Ulmo, the Lord of Waters. His eyes were of blue beryls that turned white with ample light or else they shone dark blue. His gaze was set upon Turgon's chair itself and not upon the table. For to him was most given Turgon's heart and the very thought of his counsel was held most dear to the King.

Aredhel had never felt at ease in that room, filled with the likenesses of the Ainur with whom the Noldor had a grave quarrel. But Turgon said he had placed them there as a reminder to all of their wisdom lost, as well as to induce the inclination to humble oneself in council before their mighty countenances. Now she looked at Ulmo, towering above her brother, immutable in his pearly glory. Could she yet pray to him for guidance, or perhaps for a mercy that should render all well in the coming days? Or perhaps the Ainur looked on mockingly; judging all of Gondolin's works and happinesses as being vain and doomed to eventual failure. Had not Mandos spoken it? Aredhel sighed and returned her eyes to her brother. She should tell him the truth. Now was surely the time for it, but something stayed her intent. Maybe it were his eyes...doe eyes as she had told him. That had always irked him, for he said it implied he was soft at heart.

"Is that not a good thing?" asked Aredhel with a laugh.

"It is not," replied Turgon. "Not if you are a King."

"It implies a goodly King," said Aredhel, "who thinks true with his heart and whose wisdom is guided by hope for the good in us all."

"Such a King may be great indeed, if he lives in a peace that lies far away from the trammels of exile and war. But Aman is shut and a heavy doom is laid upon us. I cannot afford to be "soft at heart" as you say."

"Oh come now," said Aredhel. "You and Ingoldo have always been held as the "soft hearted" princes of our family, and that is why you are both beloved. I may tease you for it, yet in truth I honour that side of you, for it is worthy. And remember, a soft hearted king may indeed curb a dark soul better than the cold counsel of a stern ruler."

Aredhel smiled at the memory of their gentle words together, spoken many years ago when the world seemed quieter and fonder. And looking at Turgon now made her melancholy ever deeper. For he sat at ease, dressed simply with all his stately garb shorn away. He wore a simple yet finely made tunic of sea blue, hemmed about the neck and sleeves with bands of woven mithril. His black silken trousers fit him well as did the fine brown boots. His dark hair fell in thick braids laced with silver bands and about his head was a silver circlet with a dark blue sapphire set within. The King of Gondolin was no more, for it were her beloved brother who sat there.

"Why do you smile?" said Turgon, leaning forward as if to read her more deeply.

"Memories," she answered, leaning back in her seat and sighing to the reality of the now. Behind her stood Nienna and her tears. "How apt," Aredhel thought.

Turgon put a hand to his chin and elbow upon the table, leaning upon it as his brow darkened with unasked questions. "There is much that you have not told me," he finally said. "I read that plainly enough from our conversing yesterday. Yet I did not seek to question you more, deeming you needed time to reacquaint yourself with friends and home. Your husband was away you said, yet he gave you leave to return to Ondolinde, and might follow himself when he was able. Well...he has come, yet you have not taken the news with joy it seems. Is all not well between you and this Eol?"

Aredhel looked at her brother with a little pity. There were times when Turgon's discerning nature lost its focus. Even now he sat there earnestly asking if all was not well with the coming of Eol. Could he not fathom the edict of his stern law that none who enter the Ring shall leave it? Or perhaps he was so naive as to think that any Sindarin elf who came from the outside world would be willing to reside on the inside forever, giving up all claim to the wide freedoms of Beleriand. Perhaps Turgon had been cozened by the willing Sindar who dwelt here. After all, they had come of their own volition and were fully aware of the freedoms they were giving up. For it had been a choice. A choice given before they set out from Vinyamar. But Eol, or any elf who somehow found his way to the hidden city would not be given the same grace. How could Turgon not see the problems that could arise from this? Yet even in thinking of this she realised that she could not blame her brother. For it were her own choices that had led to this situation. Her choice to leave, though long Turgon had been against it. Her choice to love and beget a son with Eol who hated her people. Her choice to flee with that son and so lead Eol to her hidden city. Yes, it was all her fault and she had no idea of how to overcome the dire outcomes of her poor choices. Save to look upon her doe eyed brother with an ill conceived pity that he did not deserve.

"Irissë please," said Turgon, placing a soothing hand upon her own. "You must speak. What must I know of your husband that has you troubled?"

Aredhel sighed. She must tell him the truth. "All was not well with my husband for a long while," she began. "Or rather, all was not well with me."

"What do you mean?" asked Turgon.

"My husband...Eol has always been a proud elf, living alone as he does with few servants in that dim land of Nan Elmoth." She paused for a moment, picturing the tall trees that stood as mighty towers whose tops could not be seen and whose thickened cover blocked the light from its dim paths and ancient secrets.

"Go on," said Turgon.

"As I told you before, Eol found and rescued me from the shadowy mazes of the forest and brought me to his home, and there we lived, content in each others company for a long while. But one thing he admitted to me in the beginning."

Turgon looked on, his face a vision of expectancy. "Well?" he said, leaning forward even more as if to hear better.

"He admitted to a dislike of the Noldor, his obvious reason being for our deeds of war towards the Teleri of Aman." There...she told him. It was a truth, but not the whole truth as to Eol's hatred. Yet what was she to say to the King of Gondolin. That her husband thought the Noldor overproud upstarts who lorded over all the Moriquendi they met in Middle-earth. For those were Eol's words that he spoke when in a dark mood.  
"Then why are you with me?" she had wanted to ask on such occasions. Yet he would always come to her and counter his ravings with muttered sweet words in her ear.  
"But you are different," he would breathe. "A beauty like no other I have ever seen. And you are mine to honour and cherish, no matter your heritage." Such coddling words and more besides would blind her from his disdain for her people, but she realised a bitterness in her as to his words that continued to rankle as the years went by.

Turgon sat back and sighed. His grey eyes went to the great figures that stood looming majestically over the table with jewelled eyes that flamed in the lamp-light. They said nothing, but could be heard clearly by those of conscience.  
"It is at times such as these when I feel the weight of their bejewelled stares," he said, folding his arms. "That terrible deed against Olwe and his people remains a blight upon the Noldor. That Eol has not forgotten it is no strange thing, however, that he has not forgiven it though he is wed to a daughter of the house of Finwe is strange to me."

"Maybe," said Aredhel, "but we loved...love each other well. Yet I am fearful that his goodwill will not extend to you and our people."

"Then why has he come?" asked Turgon. "If he despises us and knows of my law, why is he here?" Turgon's eyes narrowed their intensity. "Unless he knew not of your intent to return and did not give you leave to do so. Unless he comes not as a kinsman following his family to start anew in Ondolinde, but rather comes in pursuit of his wife and son who abandoned him. Do I not strike near the truth Irissë?"

Aredhel bowed her head as feelings of guilt welled within her. The guilt of her choices...bad choices, all of which had led her back here to this very table as a foolish sister now reprimanded by the stern gaze of her brother.  
"Did he not say that ill would come of my going," she thought, remembering Turgon's ominous words to her at their parting. But now Maeglin's face appeared before her, proud and handsome. If she had not left, her son would not exist, and he certainly was not an ill to her. She could never believe that he was a mistake. Aredhel raised her eyes to Turgon. His face was indeed stern, and his grey eyes held a hint of blame. Yet that triggered that well known defiance in Aredhel that had always exasperated Turgon.

"You do strike near the truth and I will own my part in this mess," she said to him. "Yet I do not regret my choices to leave or to love, for both gifted me my son." Turgon looked at Aredhel for a moment then lowered his eyes. She watched him for a while, twiddling his thumbs as he did whenever he was engaged in some deep thought. "What are you thinking?" she asked after a while.

"I am thinking of my own part in this. My heart and mind were heavily set against your going but I shunned their warning in the end. Ever rash have been your decisions Irissë, since childhood. "A constant headache," is what father used to say after you had defied him in some way." Aredhel opened her mouth to defend herself but Turgon raised a silencing hand. "Nay, do not speak!" he cried. Turgon was angry, whom seldom ever was. That was disconcerting to Aredhel and it filled her with remorse for making him so. She pursed her lips and bowed her head as Turgon sighed. "I will receive this elf who is your husband," he said at last. "Yet he had better beware himself, for this is my kingdom and he will abide by my word."

"And what will your word be?" Aredhel asked.

"That he will remain here as the law commands. Whether to walk free or languish imprisoned will be his choice."

Aredhel sat back wringing her hands in her lap. Eol would not abide such a law and yet walk free. So it would be the dungeons for him, yet could she live knowing the father of her son lived in chains in the darkness below? And what of the scandal about the city when this became known. What of the embarrassment to her and Maeglin; what of the scorn. She turned to her brother and found him looking at her. His grey eyes were hard and held a starry glint of heated emotion.

"This is your fault Irissë," he said. "To put me and Eol in this difficult position. I will welcome him with good intent, but how it will go with him remains to be seen. Yet I do not foresee an amicable outcome though I should hope for it, and I see that you who know him well are of the same mind." He sighed. "Well things will go as they will. Leave me now for my heart grows hot. Tomorrow Eol shall come before me and we will settle all."

Aredhel rose and turned away quickly, not wanting more of her brother's distress. She walked towards the doors of the hall with a bowed head, yet felt the stares of the Valar; felt their silent judgements, heard their wordless admonishments. She reached the doors and opened them, but could not help but turn for a last glance at her brother. He sat as a small figure, leaning forward with his arms on the table, looking forlorn and alone in that crowded room of statuesque giants. The guilt came again, welling from the pit of her stomach. And then she caught the dark gleam of obsidian flashing at her. She looked to the eyes and saw the face turned towards her, somehow, with no break at the neck or cracks or chips of broken pearl scattered upon the floor. It was impossible, but turned towards her, with burning, merciless eyes and a thin smile was the terrible face of Namo! He was the Master of Doom, whose cold words had foretold only woe and sorrow to the Noldor ere they left Aman. His ominous sight pierced Aredhel's heart and the guilt turned to a coiling fear and dread. No words did he speak, but only his stare bore into her and the stabbing flashes of his jewelled eyes pierced her own. Aredhel would have cried out, but she did not. Instead she shrank back from the doors and turning, fled from the Hall of Council, seeking the safety of her room.

 

~oOo~

All that had happened the night before and now Aredhel sat by the window, listening to the waking sounds of a fair morning, where each passing hour felt a step closer to certain doom. Even now her ears were strained to catch the cries of an approach, which would lead to the inevitable summons to the King's Hall.

"I will not go with him," said Maeglin, pacing up and down in his agitation. "I swear to you, I will not go!"

Aredhel heard his vow and pitied her son's grief, but the hour of Eol's coming drew ever nearer and she felt the need to share the bitter truths. "You will not go with him," she replied somewhat bluntly. "You will not go because the King's Law shall forbid it."

Maeglin stared at Aredhel for a moment. His grey eyes shone piercingly bright, as they always did when he was grappling with some emotion. But Aredhel swiftly turned away, for their flashing reminded her of the Namo's terrifying eyes the night before. "But Father will not agree to staying," said Maeglin.

He said the obvious and it irked Aredhel to a sudden coldness. "Of course he will not agree!" she cried. "He will not yield nor choose to understand. He will be an emissary of mockery to the King, being cold in his hatefulness and disdain. He will also be perilous, goading the King so as to prick at the pride and glory of Ondolinde."

"Then he shall find himself cast into the dungeons and we should be rid of his shadow," said Maeglin in a quiet voice. His mother's sudden anger had unsettled him.

"To your shame and mine!" cried Aredhel. "Would you live in happiness, revelling in the great city while your father rotted in the prisons below? Could I walk the courts and fairways without the mark of gossip ever following my steps? Could we live at peace with ourselves, knowing the father who made and raised you, and the man whom I loved now toiled in utter misery, chained in the darkness beneath our very feet. Could you live at peace with that?" She stood bristling with frustrated anger as her own eyes blazed at Maeglin who did not reply. But Aredhel clutched at his shoulders. "Answer me!" she cried, shaking her son in an attempt to dislodge a reply.

"Mother please," said Maeglin, gently taking hold of her arms and stilling their vigour.

Aredhel stood for a moment, staring at him with wide eyes, but the fire seemed to die and her sight darkened. She turned away and went to the window to look out. The King's Way lay wide before her, sloping all the way down to the West Gate where tall towers tapered towards the sky like massive spears, glinting in the morning sun. Already many people walked upon its gleaming paved stones, going about their morning business and leisurely pursuits. Small figures ran here and there; children laughing and shouting in innocent play. Courtyards and gardens came alive with conversing elves, sitting in the shade of blossoming trees. Sweet music and gentle voices wafted up to her ears as poets and harpists sang and recited to smiling listeners, sat beside the rush of ceaseless fountains. Laughter and voices full of mirth came from nearby as day guards relieved others from their nightly duties. It was a fair city waking to the light and joy of a new day, and the gentle promises that it held.

But Aredhel looked upon all with envy and a little jealousy. "We both should have woken to this new day carefree, as all who walk before me," she said softly. "We were to be granted the hope and joy of a new beginning, far away from the turmoils of without." She sighed and turned to Maeglin who sat glowering upon her bed. "But no! Eol's vengeance followed us even here, and whatever may betide hereafter, a shadow shall lay upon all our hopes and desires." She came to him then and kneeling before him, took his hands. "I am sorry my son," she said, looking sweetly into his sad face. "Sorry for bringing us to the light, only to have it dimmed ere you could bask in its radiance. Maybe it were better had we stayed in Nan Elmoth. Maybe I should not have filled your mind with my tales of home. Maybe we should have been content with the life I chose for myself when I yielded to Eol. That was the price I accepted, and at least it were a price all could live with; me, you and Eol, without dark consequence. But here is where our doom has led us all. I am truly sorry that I failed you."

But Maeglin looked up and smiled. Then he lift up her hands to his lips and kissed them. "Nay mother," he replied. "You did not fail me in any way. It were I who pestered you into storytelling, and it were I who suggested your return. But I regret nothing. For I am both the son of Eol the Sindar and of Aredhel Irissë the Noldor. Father took you to wife and so owes you something. I can only hope he remembers that when he comes."

Aredhel looked at Maeglin, seeing a grave wisdom behind his starry eyes. Did that wisdom come from her? Nay, she thought. That came from his father who hid his own with hate and ready disdain. But it was there, buried deep yet still a part of him. Perhaps she could pry it loose. Aredhel let herself smile at the hopeful thought. Her mind readily conjured the same doubts that had festered since Eol's coming, but her heart spoke too. Spoke of hope that Eol could still be reasoned with. "Pry it loose," came the voice, uttering the ridiculous proposition. What had she to lose. She could only try to pry Eol's wisdom loose.

 

~oOo~

The walls of the city rose before Eol's eyes, shining white and clean, bereft of any blemish and standing thick and tall in their impregnable majesty. The guard towers that hemmed the gate bulged their stony might, their fitted banners, the gold and silver trees flapping proudly in the morning airs. Many guards stood beneath the shadow of the gate's arch, clad in shining silver mail, tall helms jewelled with sapphires and long flowing blue cloaks. Eol was weary; weary of walking; weary of the pleasant sights of the land and weary of the overproud strutting of Gondolin's people.

The sun hampered him, bearing down upon him to sap his strength and dampen his will. He had never liked that flaming orb in the sky, for it's heat and fiery sight burned away the cool darkness and welcoming shadows of night to reveal all in an obscenity of light. And it overthrew his beloved stars that had shone unimpeded for thousands of years. How he yearned for the Age of the Stars, when all of Middle-earth lay under a silver sheen of twilit darkness, mesmerising in its starry beauty, with the grey lands silent and serene, save for the gentle voices of elves in the dim forests, singing at peace. But the sun had taken that away, replacing the soft caress of the stars with the vulgarity of a fiery eye, whose heats sapped ones strength and whose light stole away the intimacy of the silvery dark.

Eol wiped the sweat from his brow with a sleeve. He sweat easily in the sun, but hardly when at work by the heats of the forge. The sun hated him and he hated the sun, and blamed the Noldor for bringing it with them. And now its light reflected brightly upon the white walls of the city, paining his eyes and causing them to blink and tear up. How proud were these Calaquendi, showing off their love of radiance at every bright turn; white walls, shining armour, images emblazoned everywhere of the Two Trees, silver and golden orbs upon many pillars. Eol grimaced in dark disgust. He hated all light; gold, white and silver...white and silver.  
Now he could see those twin hues at play through the dark stems of the forest, flitting here and there, now open to his sight, now hidden behind the shadowy trees. Their hide and seek enchanted him, beguiling him with their beauty and wary innocence as they fared the dim paths, ever faltering in an effort to find a way out of the mazes. He hated...nay he had loved the white and silver that had crept into his domain. For they were the sheen of the stars come down to him from the heavens in the form of...But she had fled from him. Fled to the fiery light of this cursed land.

The guard Ohtarion halted before Eol and gave a call to a group of guards who were gathered under the shadow of the great arch of the West Gate. They casually looked up and three began to approach.  
Ohtarion turned to Eol. "We come upon the threshold of the city," he said, eyeing Eol warily. He and Rehtano had spoken little to each other and not a word to him after the other had been ordered back. True to Ohtarion's word, they had not halted until they reached the great bridge below. It had been a cursory stop, a verification between guards on the movement of the "guest" from the borders to the city. Then up the glistening mound of rock they had come, and Eol gazed upon the western plain with contempt and spat at their rolling green fields, their white roads, their neat hedgerows, their blue pools, everything he saw and had seen under the blasted light.  
"Now we have led you here with bonds, though we did not wish to set them upon you," continued Ohtarion. "But we are come to the city and I would not wish for you to walk as a prisoner in the eyes of the city-folk. Therefore I will untie your bonds if you give me your word that you will not be difficult."

Eol regarded Ohtarion with glinting eyes. "Whatever indignities and grievances I have suffered upon my arrival I hold in my heart, so vain is your attempt to assuage them. However, if it be your wish to release me then I shall comply. You need not worry, for my path leads me directly to your King. I shall not fight nor flee."

"Fair enough," said Ohtarion as he took out a knife with a beautifully made handle of obsidian, carven with runes of yellow beryl.

The three guards of the West Gate reached them and to Eol's surprise, bowed before him. "Hail, Eol of Nan Elmoth," said one. "I am named Cendarion, guard of the West Gate. I welcome you to the Hidden City, and you have the King's greeting also. We have been bidden to escort you to his hall where he awaits you." Eol said nothing but gave a curt nod. Cendarion turned to Ohtarion. "You have our thanks for the escort. We will proceed from here. You may rest awhile in our barracks ere you return."

"Water," said Eol. His belly rumbled and his throat was parched again. He would not delay for a meal but water at least would slake his thirst.

"Of course," said Cendarion, motioning towards the left tower. "The trek was long and you must be in need of some refreshment, though doubtless a fitting meal should await you at the palace."

"I care not for food," said Eol. "Just some water will suffice."

They came to the left tower, passing under the shadow of the gate's parapet of pearl. An open doorway on the inner side of the tower lead to a round common room, where stood many trestled tables hemmed by long benches. Two large pitchers were set upon each table, beside decorated flagons and an assortment of crockery. There were also loaves of bread, freshly made by the enticing aroma, and slabs of butter and jars of golden honey, alongside bowls of fruit, filled with oranges, red apples and pears, peeping in all their succulence under sumptuous garlands of purple grapes and piled strawberries. Many guards sat there drinking, eating and conversing with each other. All had removed their helms and Eol noted many golden heads among the black. He swore inwardly at the traitorous sight. All eyes turned to him as he entered, and their speech died down to silence as they gazed at him in wonder. Eol thought to turn his back on them but the noble in him could not ignore the few who rose and placed their fists upon their breasts in a salute of greeting. Eol noted that all who did this were Sindarin, while the black heads stared him over with roving grey eyes. Eol nodded at the saluting elves and ignored the appraising eyes of the black-heads. The Sindar saw a kinsman whilst the Noldor saw a travel-worn elf whom defied their expectation. Eol swore again.

Cendarion went to a near table and poured its dark red contents into a silver flagon, but as he turned Eol held up a halting hand. "I said water," he growled. He had been treated as a prisoner, so he would drink as one. Cendarion nodded and filled another flagon with the other pitcher on the table. Eol took the cup and turned to a guard who sat nearby. He was a Noldor whose staring eyes looked doubtfully up at him. A wave of hate passed over Eol and it crossed his mind to empty his flagon over the Noldor's head. But he raised his cup to the proud fool. "To Gondolin," he uttered with a sneer, and drained his flagon. The water was cool and sweet to the taste, so sweet that he wanted to ask for more, but he set the flagon down bitterly and motioned to his guards. "Now take me to the King," he said as he turned and walked out.

The King's Way lay before him in all its paved glory. It was well made, so much so that even the dwarves would have been impressed, what with its impeccably placed stones, its pitch perfect gradient and its rising kerb made of glittering blue goldstone. The highway rose as a duality, with a strip of dark green lawn in the middle where grew flowering Uilos in pretty white rows. Placed at intervals upon the green strip were pillars such as those upon the road to the city, and all had large crystals shaped in the likeness of flames perched atop them. A silver light, flaming from dusk to dawn would spring from those crystals, lighting the King's Way all through the night. Beyond the kerb upon both sides of the road lay a wide channel four feet wide and a foot deep, and within it flowed clear water rushing down from the summit and was also fed by waterways from each rising tier of the city. The hateful wave passed over Eol again.

Up the road rose at a steady gradient, and about it rose the western quarter of the city in tiers of branching paved roads and gravel pathways, fair housings, wide courtyards and flowering gardens. The lowest levels that rose from the gates were mainly comprised of quaint houses of grey and white walls and golden roofs immaculately thatched. Pretty wooden decks furnished with comfortable chairs and tables and decorated with potted flowers of colourful hues were set before each threshold, where a few elves could be seen seated, basking in the morning sun. All turned to look at Eol with interest as he passed their houses and some even stood and went to lean upon the deck railings that looked to the highway as he strode by. Further up the housings were larger and grander, being no doubt the fairer and more spacious dwellings of elves of note. Where gravel pathways had branched from the King's Way as lanes for the thatched houses, now paved roads led away from the highway. The houses had taller walls and grey stone-tiled roofs, and the decks were larger, with furnishings that were carven of greater skill and beauty. Small gardens lay there with green lawns and clear ponds from which rose smooth statues that spouted water in wispy showers.

There were already many elves upon the road and as they passed Eol and his escort, many stopped to stare. "Who is this stranger?" asked some to each other as they pointed. "Is he the one who was prophesied to come as a messenger from Ulmo?" asked others. "That may be the husband of our Lady Irissë," said a discerning few. Eol listened in cool silence as he walked, sneering inwardly at their curiosity. They would soon know who he was.  
A group of children ran about the escort, shouting and laughing as they skipped around them. "Welcome to Ondolinde, master!" they cried, giggling in their sweet abandon. "Did you come with lady Irissë?" they plied. At that name they began to dance. "Irissë! Irissë!" they shouted as they laughed, echoing the joyful cries of the day before. Some elders came and shooed them away, being wary of the strange elf who strode purposefully up the highway with a grim face. Eol swore again.  
On he went, now reaching the upper tiers of the city. The buildings upon both sides of the road were greater in stature than any he had yet seen, with vaulting walls and long colonnades, and domed structures and multi-storied halls such as Eol never could have dreamed. And there were many sheltered walkways, formed of intricately carved vines and creeping plants, and rested upon sturdy stone trellis-work, that criss-crossed the white paved paths between the lawns and fountains. Deep ponds there were of dark blue water upon whose surfaces floated yellow waterlillies and pink hyacinth.

So the King's Way finally reached its height and levelled out upon the high plateau that was the Square of the King. It was bordered all round by a built shelf of glistening obsidian, save only where the two great highways led from it, being the roads to the West and North gates. Delved within the shelf at intervals were long cushioned seatings for the high lords and ladies of the realm to sit at ease before the beauty of the Square. There Eol saw the mighty fountains whose gushing waters were like waterfalls of silvery mithril, and the great well of sparkling water that mirrored in crystal clearness the white lissom limbs of the poplar trees that graced the green lawns of that place. A few ladies, fair and regal, walked there in the morning sun, and a group of high lords were stood at ease by the shaded pool. They all turned to look at Eol's approach and he noted some of the emblems among them. A rainbow atop an opal caught his eye, as did an arrowhead, winged by a fan of feathers. There also stood a lord with a glorious mane of rich fair hair that shone almost yellow, who wore a rayed sun atop a golden flower that might have been Celandine. They all solemnly put their hands to their breasts in salute but Eol ignored them, turning away purposefully in a show of disdain.

Now before Eol's eyes stood the Palace of the King, rising in glorious majesty upon the summit of Amon Gwareth. It stood many floors high, each as a tier of glorious construction that meshed its walls of white stone to the black rocks of the hill. The ground level wall was very high with many leaf arched windows looking west as did the main door to the King's hall. Eol could see little of the rest of the palace above, though he had espied high gardens and domed rooms and terraced chambers. But four great towers at least he saw. Three of them rose from the third level that was a rectangle that sat with each corner facing north, south, and west. The east tower he could not see but rising from the seventh and last level of the palace was the fourth tower which was the Tower of King and which rose two hundred feet into the air, standing high above the city to a piercing point of a crown that gleamed with silver. Eol eyed the building with as much disdain as with fascination. Great was the beauty of the slender towers atop which were set the white stems of proud banners of blue and silver rippling and flapping in the high winds. Immaculate was the workmanship of the leaf-like arches inlaid with etched traceries, the winding balustraded outer staircases and the smooth shining high balconies flowering with decorative vegetations, all under the crystal clear clarity of a bright morning of blue sky and fragrant airs. The city was beautiful in ways that were more than he had ever thought.  
"So this is where you came from," thought Eol as he took it all in. He thought of his own home now far away and of which he might never see again. It was true; his dwellings were as a hovel when compared to the city, but he did not feel ashamed that he had housed the Lady of Gondolin in such surroundings. Had she not tired of Gondolin and all of its exquisite excesses? He had offered her what was quaint but intimate. He had stripped her of the airs and graces of nobility and given her the freedoms of the heart. He had forbidden her the light of the sun for that of the stars which was better. Nay, he did not feel lessened by the carven glory that was Gondolin. Besides, his own people of the Sindar had better, for to his mind the beauty of Menegroth still had no rival.

Now stood atop the broad marble stairs that led to the palace doors was a tall elf clad in silver mail that seemed to shimmer in the morning light. His long sweeping cloak was white and his surcoat of red dyed leather, and woven upon it as was etched upon his great shield were the images of the sun, the moon and a heart beneath them, laced with gold. Eol slowed his stride as he looked at the heraldic images, for they seemed vaguely familiar to him. Where had he seen that design, he wondered. Then the memory came to him slowly, like a budding light of recollection within a dark vista; its flame faint yet growing ever brighter until it swept aside the shadows of forgetfulness, revealing a moving portrait of scenes gone by.

 

~oOo~

There she sat, in a shadowy dell a little ways from the doors of his house, where the mighty tree trunks were not so close together, though their high boughs still met far above in a thick leafy entanglement that blocked out the sun. She wore a brown tunic and grey leggings, with high supple boots of leather. Beside her lay a long bow of elm wood and from the leather belt at her waist was a worn scabbard from which could be seen the black hilt of a dagger. She indeed sat as a hunter of the wood and one could not believe that she were of a mighty house of elves. She turned to his approach, and her face lifted, revealing a royal beauty that pierced his heart. Her oval face was pale and smooth, with arched brows that led to clear grey eyes, shining now with the light of mirth. Her midnight hair was pulled back to a long ponytail that reached down to her waist. No adornments touched her brow or ran about her neck, but she needed not the enhancements of jewels to bring forth her dark beauty. A familiar thrill ran through him as he gazed upon her in wonder at his luck in having found such a prize wandering aimlessly in his domain.

Now he stood beside her, returning her welcoming smile with his own.  
"Sit with me, Elben," she said, motioning to the ground beside her. He sat a little apart from her, for he saw that upon the ground next to her were shapes drawn in the soil.

"What have you drawn?" he asked, gazing at what looked like the outline of a broad shield with a circle at its center.

"That," she said, pointing to the circle, "is the sun."

"The sun?" he said, frowning a little. She knew he did not like that fiery ball and its revealing light from which he hid if he could. "Why do you draw the likeness of that which offends me?"

"Do I offend you?" she asked as her smile faded to solemnity.

He looked questioningly at her, wondering for he sensed a riddle. "Eldis, you know that you have never offended me."

"Yet you hate the sun and its light," she replied. She looked down to her drawing and with a slender finger, traced a crescent to the right of the circle. "Here then is the moon that you like better," she said.

"I prefer the stars," he said. She looked at him with vague irritation for a moment and then sighed. "But if it is between the sun and moon then I choose the latter," he added. She turned away from him and it seemed that her mood saddened, as if his words displeased her. He was puzzled by this, and put a gentle hand upon her shoulder. "What are you attempting to show me, Eldis?" he asked with growing concern. "If this is some strange riddle you present, then I would have a little more guidance to answer it."

"It is no riddle," she said, turning her sad eyes to him. "This is who we are, Elben. I am the sun and you the moon. I come from a realm of light and you from the shadows of night. Yet here we are, beyond all thought and circumstance, living together in love." She set her finger to the ground again and below the circle and crescent, she drew the image of a heart. "We are joined by a love that will not fail on my part. You I have chosen, and to you I will cleave, though you should deny me the light from whence I came."

His face darkened a little at her words, for though they spoke of love, he caught the rumour of bitterness. Now it was his turn to sigh. "I only deny you that which I cannot partake."

"Nay, you deny me that which you choose not to partake," she replied.

He looked away, downcast and troubled. "How long has this thought rankled?"

"It does not rankle," she replied. "Yet I will not deny that I yearn for the light at times, as you would yearn for the stars if they were denied to you." She looked down at her drawing and her strange sadness dampened her eyes. He watched her sidelong for a while.

"And now you mourn," he said quietly. "If the image of our love does not bring you happiness, why did you draw it?"

But she looked up at him with intensity in her shining eyes. "Nay lord, do not mistake me," she answered. "I am content with you by all accounts. Yet when I look at this I am grieved. Grieved that our coming together is fraught with obstacles and fences, where there should be acceptance in all matters. Nay, do not become angered," for she saw the frown upon his darkening brow. She took his hand and clasped it in her own. "I love you and I always will, no matter the years that should pass or from wherever I should pass them. My home is here under the shadows of the forest and I am content. Yet one day I hope you might find it in your heart to accept the light that lies in me."

He sat silent for a moment, wondering what had brought on such talk. He felt the pangs of suspicions rising, yet he willed them away, unwilling to be darkened by their tempting whispers. He believed in his heart that she would not leave him. She would never betray his trust, and never flout his command to renounce the light. Yet a part of him understood her grave words, but he was not ready to face their deep meaning. She was his prize, to covet and keep with jealous ardency. That thought shamed him, for he knew she deserved better. But he had long set aside the noble in him, living the rustic life as he did. Could he ever give up the shadows for the open blue sky and the gleaming light of the sun? He had taken much from her whereas he had only received. Received a love and companionship that he had lacked in his dark world. He could never give that up. He looked again at the drawing in the soil. The sun had dimmed itself for the moon, yet could the moon brighten for the sun? Or was he too cowardly to do so, or too selfish and proud? Nay, he was not prepared to face such grave questions about himself, not yet. Or better still, not ever.

She had been watching him intently, as if trying to read his thoughts, but suddenly he gathered her in his strong arms. "I accept you as you accept me," he lied. He kissed her softly, and let his lips linger, brushing them against hers as he held her ever closer. Her arms went about his neck as she sought his lips in answering desire. He felt a pang of guilt for the unworthiness of his actions. To use her innocent desires against her. But he loved her and could not lose her; not now, not ever. He would not survive it. He held his head back from her awoken desires, noting the trembling rise and fall of her breasts and the quickening of her breath.  
"You are a child of light and I have long since made my peace with that," he said, caressing her heated cheek. "Yet with time you shall surely come to wholly accept the mastery of the starlit night, with all its passions and mystery." With that he kissed her again and soon they were both upon the ground, clutching and caressing in a fit of boundless passion.

Soon the airs about them rang with her quivering cries. "The night!" she moaned. "I will cleave to the night!"

 

~oOo~

The memory receded, drawn back into the mists of thought. Eol looked at the elf's surcoat with a rising wave of hate. Aredhel had lied to him, even then. She had not drawn the sun and moon and heart as a symbol of their love. Nay, it were the heraldic arms of Turgon and the city of her people that she had longed for. She had never loved him, but only bided her time with manipulations of passion so as to birth an heir for her people, whom she would steal away when she was able. His dark anger at the realisation coiled through him with seething arms of ire, beating out a pounding heat within his chest. Verily would he be avenged.

Now Eol and his escort approached the guard and he stepped down towards them with a fist to his breast in greeting.  
"Hail Eol of Nan Elmoth," he said. "I am named Eldacalwë, Captain of the Palace Guard." He laid out a hand, sweeping it towards the doors of the palace. "King Turukano awaits you within," he said with a curt bow.

Eol stared darkly at the elf, despising his courtesy. "Then lead on," he grunted in his impatience.

They took to the stairs and Eol glanced at golden Glingal searingly bright, and silver Belthil shining white in the rays of the rising sun. More images of those blasted trees, he thought, and swore again. Through the shadow of the doorway he went and Eol found himself facing the length of the Throne Room towards the dais of the king at the far end. The marble floor glistened as did the walls upon which hung many tapestries depicting scenes of the histories of Turgon and his people in Gondolin and of his ancient dwelling in Vinyamar. The tapestries near the throne were of scenes alien to Eol's eyes, for they were of a great city upon a gleaming plain and another upon a hill that was hemmed by immense cliffs. Some also depicted tall figures of majesty who stood surrounded by elves who were rejoicing before them.  
Now two rows of slender pillars, banded by mithril at rising intervals, upheld the great hall and upon them spiralling upward were golden lamps that never faded. For the tall windows of the hall were set on the north and southern walls where the light of the sun did not directly shine. Only at dusk would the setting sun's rays gleam through the tall windows and main entrance of the western wall, filling the hall with gold. Lining the north and southern walls were great statues that depicted the mighty eagles of the Crissaegrim whose bejewelled eyes and grasping talons were of twinkling diamonds and they stood with outstretched wings of gold and obsidian beaks that were open wide, heralding in silence. A great pool lay at the centre of the hall, shaped as a square with pearl columns that rose at each corner, upon which were set large globes that were clear, and whose innards housed a strange coiling substance of silvery hues that pulsed and flashed, glittering the waters below. Rising from the pool was a shape of great height and majesty. It wore a tall crown of silver, from which long hair fell as carven foam. A mantle hung about him yet here and there his mithril mail showed through and was close-fitted as the mail of mighty fish. Its crowned head was uplifted and it held a mighty horn to its lips, blowing a silent call for as long as Gondolin stood.

Now Eol approached the throne of the king that stood before the eastern wall, rising seven steps to a dais of pearl. A stately yet less opulent throne it was of gilded wood and covered in hallowed engravings, and fixed upon the end of each of the wide armrests was the head of an eagle. The King's seat was adjoined by a similar, yet less ornate seat and upon sat a lady with golden hair and a face like to Turgon's in womanhood. So Eol first laid eyes upon Idril, the daughter of Turgon. But swiftly Eol's gleaming eyes turned to the man and woman who stood to the right of the King. The man stood at the top of the dais, level with the King's seat, and was clad in a finely made silken grey tunic, white trousers and black leather boots that fit him well. Upon his head was golden circlet and about his shoulders was draped a flowing blue cloak. His head was somewhat bowed and his face held a sullen expression. The Lady however stood upon the bottom step of the dais. She was clad in a slender flowing white satin dress, hugged at the waist by a mithril belt, and patterned about the low-cut neckline and wide sleeves with golden lace. Adorned upon her brow was a silver circlet which held a white opal stone, and about her neck lay a shining silver carcanet. Her midnight hair was parted neatly at the center, and fell luxuriously about her shoulders in dark waves upon her back. She stood tall and straight, with hands clasped together before her waist, and seemed a vision of nobility, queenly in her posture. But Eol noted that her hands twitched as if she were itching to wring them together as she stood. Eol gazed at her for a moment and a spasm of longing shot through him, for he had never seen her look so beautiful, so regal, so unattainable to his humble self. Then swiftly the wave of hatred gained the mastery, and his desire was infected with a dark jealousy and a fiery sense of betrayal. A slow sneer animated his face upon his final approach, and so Eol stood before the dais of Turgon at last, as a grim figure bristling with pride and anger, and a dark will full of ill intent.

 

~oOo~

Aredhel stood silent with eyes lowered, as she could not bring herself to look at Eol's approach. Yet she could feel the heat of his anger and sense of betrayal even from there. Her nerves were an equal turmoil of shame and trepidation, and it took all of her will not to wring her hands that she now held tight before her.

She had noted Eol's coming from afar, looking out from her window and seeing his unmistakable proud and purposeful stride, his silver hair tied back, his broad shoulders and fisted hands. Maeglin had joined her by the window sill, placing comforting arms about her as he watched his father's approach with flaming eyes.

"And so he comes at last," Aredhel said to him in a low voice. She trembled.

"Then let us prepare to meet him," her son replied, embracing away her tremors and kissing her cheek.

"I need a moment alone," she said to him, cupping his face in her hands and kissing his brow. "I shall see you in the throne room."

So with a bow Maeglin had left her, and she had stood before a tall mirror, taking in her reflection. She had put on a stately satin gown that accentuated her slender frame, with its matching circlet and carcanet necklace of bright silver and linked sapphires. She would look her best as the White Lady of Gondolin. There came a knock and Eteminiel her maiden came with word from the King to join him in the throne room. She was ready. Maeglin and Idril were already by Turgon's side when she entered the throne room, and there stood also a few lords of the realm. Egalmoth of the Heavenly Arch stood by Ulmo's Pool in conversation with Duilin of the Swallow, while Glorfindel of the Golden Flower stood hard by, talking to one of the palace guards. There were some other lesser nobles, stood about the latter half of the hall in pairs or trios, speaking quietly to one another. This did not please Aredhel, for the words between Eol and Turgon would be harsh enough without having an audience to hear them. Besides, having many proud eyes looking at Eol with scorn and disapproval would only incense him to greater folly. She went to the King who sat upon his high seat and bent to his ear.

"I do not think it prudent to have the lords and counsellors of Ondolinde present at this meeting," she said in a low voice. "This is a delicate family matter of which I would not have its contents published about the city by the gossip of dissenting voices."

Turgon looked at his sister gravely and gave a nod. "Perhaps you are right," he replied. "I too would not have our guest daunted or discomforted unnecessarily."

He then motioned to Arheston, his squire, and bid him ask all to leave the throne room save its guards. Aredhel felt a little easier as the hall cleared, yet she could feel a sense of panic, vague yet rising as she realised that with each beat of time, Eol's approach drew nearer and nearer. She and Maeglin now stood in the safest place for them in all of Middle-earth, yet she had to endure the inevitability of a threat that could not be stayed, or ignored. It were almost as if she were a little girl again, pacing about fearfully as she awaited the heavy footfalls of her father and his sharp rebuke for some mischievous deed. Yet her peril here was far more dire than the chiding words of Fingolfin, who would more than often end his scolding with a forgiving hug and kiss on the cheek.

Eldacalwë, who was stood by the entrance looking out, now turned to them. "Lord Eol has reached the Square, my lord," he called.

"Welcome him in," said Turgon, straightening in his high seat.

Eldacalwë bowed and went out to stand as a tall silhouette atop the stairway to the threshold. Aredhel turned to Idril who sat upon her seat of honour to the left of her father. She was as always, a vision of dignity, with her hands placed one atop the other upon her lap, and her fair face betraying nothing of her thoughts. Aredhel's eyes then went to Turgon, who sat as an image of a mighty king, stern and thoughtful, and his staff of Doom placed at his side, held loosely in the jewelled claws of the right arm-rest. He was robed in gleaming white, belted with gold and crowned by a ring of twinkling garnets. Ever cool was her brother's mood, steering to patience and wisdom rather than to pride and anger. Aredhel prayed that blessed side of him would rule his counsel in the face of her husband's scorn. She then turned to Maeglin who stood beside her to her right. His fists were clenched and his head was bowed, his dour face revealing a mournful dismay. She wanted to give him words of comfort, yet realised that she also needed words for herself, for her panic continued to rise steadily, and already she was trembling. She felt a hand clutch her left arm and turned to the reassuring face of her brother.

"All will be well, sister," he said with a faint smile.

Aredhel took hope from his gentle words. They had not spoken since the night before and she thought he were still angry with her, and she feared that that anger would guide his mood towards Eol, worsening what was to be a most tense meeting. But she realised that he understood the delicate nature of the situation as so much rested upon its outcome. But what would that outcome be? Either Eol were to be somehow persuaded to remain in Gondolin indefinitely, or else he would be held as a prisoner for the rest of Gondolin's days. Those were the two grim choices that held impossibilities on both counts. Eol would never agree to the former and Aredhel could never live with the latter. What was to be done? Even as she wrestled with these worrisome thoughts, she saw Eldacalwë move forward as he descended the stairs to disappear from view. Her swirling nerves tightened and the beat of her heart quickened. As a final move to ease the aesthetics of Noldorin pride that might only serve to humiliate Eol, Aredhel stepped down to the first step of the King's dais, for she would not stand next to the throne above her husband, as if to flaunt her royalty to his forlorn misery and further embitter him.

And just like that, there he was, coming up the stairs and now passing into the hall. His grey tunic was wayworn as were his dusty leather boots, and his great cloak had tears and was tattered along the lower hemline. Yet he strode proudly and purposefully, with straight shoulders and a silvery head upheld with roving eyes that took in the beauty of his surroundings. His face was grim, with a clenched jaw and simmering eyes that spoke of the boiling anger within. His hands were fisted as if itching to fight, and Aredhel was relieved that he was weaponless, for no scabbard was attached to his brown leather belt. But as he approached her fearfulness turned to feelings of shame. Not shame for loving him, but shame for abandoning him. Shame for betraying his trust. Shame for stealing away his flesh and blood. She could not look at him; could not meet his fiery eyes with her own...for shame. She bowed her head and lowered her gaze to the floor.

The footsteps halted but ten paces away from her, and then there was silence. Aredhel held her hands tightly before her, using all her will to desist the urge to wring them as was her wont in agitation. She was commonly known to be strong and wilful by her peers, but she felt meek and timid under Eol's dark appraisal. His eyes were upon her. She could feel them and the hate behind their stare. All their years together, of tolerance and trust, of love and passion had now come to this day...to this point. Had it all been for nothing? Had it all been an ill advised tryst that could only end in ruin for all involved? Aredhel did not want it so, and she hoped...nay she prayed that Eol did not want that either. She had to hope that all would turn out well. Her brother had reassured her so. She had to face her fate...to face her Doom. She had wrought it from the very day she set out all those years ago as a defiant woman seeking thrills and adventure, without thought of consequence. Now had come the day of payment. She gave a deep breath and raised her head to look at the man she loved, and yet who looked at her with the dark flames of hate.

"King of Ondolinde," she began. "I present to you Eol of Nan Elmoth, who is my husband and the father of Maeglin, your sister-son." Aredhel's words rang loud to her, as if they were some solemn proclamation of foreboding rather than a joyous welcome of honour. But she heard the King rise from his high seat, and coming down, Turgon came forward to stand before Eol and extend a hand.

Welcome, kinsman, for so I hold you," he said in a clear voice.

Eol did not move and a silence descended upon the hall that was filled with a tension that never before had filled that fair place. Aredhel heart was racing, and she began to tremble again. She looked at Eol's face and saw the dark reply of his eyes; saw the grim seal of his lips. What would he do? Her panic took flight again, filling her mind with terrifying thoughts. Yet even as she thought to step forward in an attempt to ward off conjured evils, Eol made a movement. He raised his own hand with slow deliberation to join it with the King's in greeting. Aredhel closed her eyes as her body shuddered with relief.

"Kind words to be sure," Eol said in a low voice. "And I hope you have found joy at the return of your sister."

"I have," replied the King. "And you have my eternal thanks for her safekeeping throughout the mournful years in which I thought her lost."

"I did as good fortune willed," said Eol steadily. "For whom of elvenkind would have left a fair maiden of royalty to the perils of the wild unattended and unaided?"

"There are none indeed," said Turgon with a smile. "Yet all the same you have my thanks and I am indebted to you and yours, for you have a raised a worthy son whom in being an heir to the House of Nolofinwe shall receive the highest honour in my realm."

Eol's brow darkened at that and his body seemed to stiffen. "An heir he may be, yet the heirloom of his father's people, which though far less grandiose than your kingdom, still awaits him beyond the mountains."

"I do not doubt it," said Turgon, "Yet to these lands he has come, as have you. Therefore here you shall dwell at your pleasure, save only that you must abide and depart not from my kingdom; for it is my law that none who finds the way hither shall depart."

Another silence fell, more potent than before, and Aredhel quailed inside, knowing that all now hung upon a knife-edge as the stark choice was finally put to Eol. Then as slowly as he had lift his hand to take the King's in greeting, so now Eol withdrew it. His face was now dark and grim indeed, and his eyes blazed with ire, so much so that Eldacalwë who stood beside him took a step closer, readying himself for some sudden deed of anger that might be set against the King. But Eol did not move to such irredeemable rashness, but bristled where he stood, undaunted and full of defiant challenge.

"I acknowledge not your law," he said. "No right have you or any of your kin in this land to seize realms or to set bounds, either here or there. This is the land of the Teleri, to which you bring war and all unquiet, dealing ever proudly and unjustly. I care nothing for your secrets and I came not to spy upon you, but to claim my own: my wife and my son. Yet if in Aredhel your sister you have some claim, then let her remain. Let the bird go back to the cage, where soon she will sicken again, as she sickened before. But not so Maeglin. My son you shall not withhold from me." Eol craned his neck to the side, setting his flaming sight upon his son who still stood with a bowed head, glowering by the high seat of the King. "Come, Maeglin son of Eol!" he cried in a voice so loud that Maeglin jolted, and looked up to meet his father's gaze. "Your father commands you. Leave the house of his enemies and slayers of his kin, or be accursed!"

Aredhel whipped around to her son. He stood as he was, facing his father's steely gaze with a wavering return. She could see his grievous turmoil of heart, forced to choose between the rights of his father and the royalties of his mother. Aredhel was pained by her son's discomfiture, wanting desperately to comfort him and yet having no idea how. She saw Idril's intense gaze at Maeglin as if weighing her own notions of his thoughts. Calm she seemed, but Aredhel could detect a stiffness in her posture that betrayed her tenseness to the situation. She turned back to Eol whose gaze had now returned to face the King. He had spoken his mind and had been as grim as expected, yet Aredhel was somewhat relieved that all had been laid bare, as if a great portion of the weight of her dire expectation had been lifted. However, now came the uphill task of deliberation and compromise, and she knew that all still hung in the balance for her family.

At that moment Turgon turned away from Eol and made his way back to his throne. He glanced at Aredhel as he came, and his face was stern and somewhat grim. Aredhel's fears rose again, for she knew that Eol's proud words had angered him, and Turgon would now seek to proclaim his power over him, thwarting Eol's pride with kingly strength. Aredhel receded to helplessness again, knowing she could not stand against the King who had attempted to be civil and welcoming, only to receive abuse within his very own hall. Yet she could not stand against the anger of her husband, injured by her betrayal and abandoned loyalty. What was she to do?

Turgon now sat upon his throne and took the Staff of Doom from its claw. It was a white rod fitted with a crystal globe within which coiled some dark substance like a black mist. His eyes were gleaming as he thrust the rod to the floor with an echoing dint upon the marble. Then he leaned forward in his seat. "I will not debate with you, Dark Elf," he said in a stern voice. "By the swords of the Noldor alone are your sunless woods defended. Your freedom to wander there wild you owe to my kin; and but for them long since you would have laboured in thraldom in the pits of Angband. And here I am King; and whether you will it or will it not, my doom is law. This choice only is given to you: to abide here, or to die here; and so also for your son."

Turgon's words were proud and grim, as a mighty king filled with anger at the impertinence of a lowly thief who stands before him at court, ragged and bound in royal chains. Aredhel turned back to Eol and saw that his eyes now fenced with Turgon's as he stood undaunted by the kingly threat. All stood thus for a terrible moment, locked in a silent tussle of mighty wills. Then Eol's gaze turned again to Aredhel, and she felt the burn of their piercing gaze.  
So much lay in his stare; "Why did you leave me? How could you leave me? You never loved me."  
Aredhel stood as still as a statue, held by the flaming strength of his will. "All is your fault," came the blame of her inner thought. "Either he lives in chains or dies in bitterness. Such you have wrought," came the distant mockery.  
"Forgive me my love," she returned. "Forgive all the days I held you in my arms. Forgive all my smiles. Forgive the day you laid eyes upon me wandering in your woods. Forgive me please!" she wailed, willing her turmoil through her wavering sight so that he might somehow understand her. Perhaps Eol did, for Aredhel could swear she noted the flame of his eyes flicker and fade.

For a moment, a sense of elation grew within her, as she thought she had quelled his anger and might still find a way to settle their differences in understanding. But the heats of Eol's eyes faded not in defeat. Nay! A coldness was now in his gaze, as if the fiery passions of anger were now cooled to the black embers of a hateful purpose, ready to do any fell deed, no matter the dire consequence. Aredhel shrank back from those dead eyes that seemed to look through and past her. She had lost him! She meant nothing to him now. And so his eyes turned to Maeglin with a cold menace, behind whose sneer was a growing notion of darkest evil. Aredhel almost gasped, losing sight of the semblance of the man she loved to a fell grinning thing, readying itself for an ill deed beyond her thought and comprehension. Eol was now perilous in a way that was utterly alien to what Aredhel had thought possible. What was he about to do? Nay, he would not do that. He would not seek to end their son's life, and so take his own either by the King's strength or by his own hand. He could not hate her that much surely. Yet in that moment, Aredhel saw Maeglin's death in Eol's eyes. She could not believe it. If only she had known how black this day would turn out when it dawned. But now a desperate thought came to her. She must stop him! She must cry out, or fling herself upon him. Anything to save her poor son who asked not to be born to such a black doom. But now a darkness attempted to overwhelm her, holding in a vice-like grip her limbs, and dumbing her speech. She was held prisoner by her mounting horror and disbelief. Eol was going to strike! She could see his left hand inching towards the folds of his cloak by his right breast. Her tearful eyes widened with shock. She must do something before it was too late!

But she could not move; could not speak. A greater will held her in its icy embrace as she watched her world sliding slowly towards chaos. She must do something!  
Visions flashed before her eyes: A father and son smiling as they clapped one another upon the back after a hard but fruitful day's work at the forge. A young boy laughing as his father carried him upon his back, neighing like a horse. A babe in arms, giggling at its doting mother who nuzzled their noses together. Lovers lying beside each other with a wearied smiles after a night of lovemaking. A pair entwined in each others arms as they sat beside the rippling waters of Gladuial, with the wavering stars reflected in both the pool's waters and in their eyes. A lost maiden sighing her relief in seeing a tall stranger's approach in her hour of need, saving her from the deceits of the strange dark forest.  
Tears trickled down Aredhel's cheeks as she recalled the emotions of joy and love of those scenes, all of which had occurred so as to lead to this hateful moment. Despair stared her in the face. But from the deepest recesses of her heart came a seed of defiance and she latched onto it with all her will. She refused to give in to despair; to give in to fear. She was a daughter of the mighty House of Finwe, hardy in strength of mind and purpose, and whose defiance rose even to the Powers themselves. This was not how her doom would end. Neither would she accept such for her son nor for Eol. She must do something! With all the will left inside her, she brought forth the defiance of her people and the seed of hopeful light suddenly burst forth as shining rays whose radiance shattered the darkness that held her with searing beams that smote the chains and shrivelled the shadows. Suddenly she was free, and felt the lifting of a great weight upon her spirit. Eol's purpose was nearly done for she could see his fingers already delving into his cloak as if seeking for something hidden. Then with all her defiance, and all her love for her son and for her husband, she uttered a single word.

"Wait!"

Her voice was faint in her ears, as if spoken from a great depth, and for a moment she feared no-one had heard her. Yet even so, she looked at Eol and saw that his returned stare was full of shock. His searching hand was pulled back and his wide eyes looked confused and bewildered. Then with a great rush, her hearing roared to life and she caught the echoes of her utterance, ringing about the walls of the hall. Had she cried out? She turned slowly to those behind her and found them all staring as Eol, in utter shock. Then swiftly was Maeglin at her side with a face that was full of concern.

"Mother," he said, with a caressing hand to her face and another about her shoulders. "Are you alright?"

She looked at him a moment, a little confused herself as she held onto him with clutching arms that lovingly embraced her son. He was unharmed and safe, she thought as renewed tears coursed down her cheeks. Now Turgon rose and joined them, placing his palms about her face and turning her eyes to his.

"Irisse," he said gravely. "Perhaps you should sit and regather yourself, for I feel this confrontation threatens to overwhelm you."

Part of Aredhel wanted just that, for already she felt a great weariness of both limb and spirit, as if she had partaken in some great labour beyond the reach of her strength. But she turned from Turgon to look at Eol. There he still stood, both his hands now at his sides, and staring aside as if in some deep thought.

"Nay," said Aredhel, pushing both her brother and her son away. "I must have words with my husband."

Eol looked at her suddenly and Turgon's face darkened again. "I feel all our words spoken have been enough," said he. "Only Eol's answer to my command is all that remains to be said."

But Aredhel swiftly turned to Turgon who almost took a step back, so sharp and fiery was her glance. "Nonetheless I will speak with Eol...alone, whether you will it or no!" she cried. "You both have said much, but now I shall speak."

Turgon looked at her and it seemed she was fey. He sighed. "Very well," he ceded. "I may not desire this but I will not obstruct you, for truly do you both have much to discuss," He gave an eye to Eol. "Yet I hope wisdom shall prove the more fruitful than ill advised pride."

Aredhel turned to Eol, who now looked at her with a strange light in his eyes. She went to stand before him, her glance flitting from his face to whatever was hidden beneath his cloak. "Will you have words with me, my lord," she said, steadily meeting his gaze. Eol did not reply, but his expression was a vision of confusion, as if he were lost and now stood bewildered with aught else to do. "Please, my lord," Aredhel implored. "Let us speak together, alone, and air our differences and understand our minds. Thereafter you may be free to choose as you will, and I will not hinder you any further."

Eol looked at her intently, trying to fathom the riddle he now seemed to ask himself. All fires whether hot or cold were now quenched from his sight, and he seemed himself again. He clenched his jaw and gave a curt nod, wordlessly signifying his willingness.

So Aredhel turned to Turgon. "We shall use the council chamber," she said as she strode past the King. Maeglin went to follow but she held up her hand. "I said alone," she countered forcefully. Maeglin bowed and stood aside, watching his father follow after her in silence.

Turgon watched his sister go with mounting concern. He hoped indeed that she could quell Eol's anger and persuade him to abide by his law. But he had no real hope for it. The elf was dark indeed, and the vehemence of his ill will had shocked him. A heavy cloud lay behind the elf's eyes that he could not even begin to fathom, and he wondered how Aredhel had come to love such as he. Indeed, he had noted the strange change that had come upon Eol that threatened a very black evil in his countenance. But his sister had suddenly given a cry. That utterance that rang so loud and desperate as to still the very heart by the shock of it. "Wait," she had cried, as if pleading not only to Eol, but to the very fabric of Arda itself. An unease crept over Turgon as he thought. A deep evil will had found its way into his hall, but maybe it was not all of Eol's making. He thought of the Curse that hung over his people and all their deeds. Perhaps it had reared its serpent head there and then, ready to strike a fatal blow to his house and kingdom. But what of Aredhel's cry? He sighed. Had some great evil been averted? Could Fate be changed? Could a new path be set for the Noldor and their tale in Middle-earth? Could he let himself hope for it to be so? There were too many questions, but no wise sage to answer them. Yet the day was not over and could still end in ruin. All he could do was sit and wait, being now wary in judgement as the choices of this day could mean far more for his people than was first thought.

He turned to his daughter, sat as ever upon her seat at his side. She watched him in silence, betraying little of her wise thought as was her wont. Yet he knew she also was troubled. He returned to sit upon his throne and Idril leaned towards him.

"What shall you do?" she asked quietly.

"I shall sit and think," came his thoughtful reply. "Unless you have wise council to lend to your father?"

Idril sat back and put a hand upon her father's. "We can only follow your sister's plea," she said gravely. "We wait!"

~oOo~

And even in the very instance of Aredhel's utterance, the echoes of her word were flung from the hill of Amon Gwareth. They raced over mountains and valleys, over lakes and rivers and over forests and plains. And coming to the sea they swept over its deep waters, ringing ever wider from the source in a great arc of sound. There, in the deepest depths of Belegaer, and sat upon his coral throne, Ulmo heard the cry, and straight away lift up his crowned head as his sapphire blue eyes blazed forth. The echoes passed over the Pelori and raced across the fields, gardens and pastures of The Blessed Realm and the vast pillared halls of Mandos trembled and all the houseless spirits quailed and were halted in their mourning, and for a moment, all of Namo's counsels were in disarray. He rose slowly from his obsidian throne and turned his grim sight east towards Middle-earth. And rising high, the echoes reached the very halls of heaven upon Taniquetil, and came to the ears of Manwe upon his lofty throne. And he slowly sat forward, listening perforce to that echo as it faded into the winds. Then he sat back, closed his eyes and gave a sigh that swept forth like a gale.  
Now who can say what are the inner counsels of Manwe and Eru, yet when he opened his eyes again, they flashed, bright as suns. And upon his face was a smile.

~oOo~

And even so, Aredhel now walked towards the doors to the council chamber within the palace of Turgon in the Hidden Realm. She had been a little unsteady upon her feet at first, yet her weariness left her with each step forward that she took. And unbeknownst to her or to anyone in Middle-earth, each footfall fell upon a new path, birthing a new Fate whose web-like strands began to grow and spread throughout the world and whose endings were now unknown. Yet for Aredhel, daughter of Fingolfin of the House of Finwe, she had no notion of the epic changes to time and space that occurred with each tread of her feet. Her only concern was with Eol and what she would say to him once they were alone behind closed doors. She had little hope of the outcome, but she was sure of one thing. The thought echoed over and over again in her heart. "Pry it loose," came the sentiment, and she would do just that. She would pry Eol's wisdom loose.

 

Author's Commentary:  
Nothing to say except I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.  
Thanx!


	3. Chapter 3

OF EOL AND AREDHEL

Chapter Three...

Eol passed into the Council Chamber and heard the door close softly after him. He stood before a long marble table, ringed by ten chairs that were made of dark oak, upholstered with black leather, and heavily laden with traceries of winged shapes and claws about the legs and armrests. His eyes rose to the tall carven figures that stood upon each side of the room, staring solemnly at the table top with jewelled eyes. Eol was quick to surmise that these were images of the Valar, and he looked at them with interest, wondering about their names and powers. Only one he knew from ancient sight. He stood fourth from the threshold and to the left, with shining emerald eyes and a curved horn held in his great hand. The Valaróma. Memories of long ago now came to Eol. A long trek under the stars. His wonder and delight in the discovery of new and strange lands. The bonds of family and friends long gone. The fear and horror; the pain....  
"Now it is just us," came the voice that drew him back to the present.

Eol turned his eyes to the woman who stood with her back to him. A spasm of anger flamed at the sight of her, yet ebbed away swiftly. He was weary of it all. Weary and lost. His purpose that had seemed so clear to him was now in disarray. He had thought to do one thing, but strangely became incensed to do another. And yet even in that blinding moment, Aredhel had cried out. Had she guessed his mind then? Eol believed she had, and thus had halted him in her desperate clamour. And now he was confused and unsure of how to proceed. He knew he was trapped. Trapped in this room. Trapped within this city. Trapped by the mountainous fence that surrounded this realm of enemies. Trapped and alone. All had forsaken him, as had done in ages past. But he had learned how to live a solitary life, free from the ill will of others. Free until Aredhel had come into his life to disrupt his ways...disrupt his solitary promises. He did not think he could ever forgive her. She knew not of his innermost pains and had given little heed to his grave hopes and needs by taking away what she had gifted him...her love and loyalty, both of which he had prized beyond all things. Ever had he been afraid to let himself feel again, fearing the failings of the past, and in the end the Noldorin Princess was no different to the rest. They had all failed him. Even his own flesh and blood. Even Maeglin.

"Will you speak first or shall I?" she asked without turning to face him. He wanted to hate that voice. He wanted to hate it so he could rant and rave his injuries to her. So he could curse her where she stood for having betrayed him. So he could see her quail with fear and see her weep her regret to his anger's satisfaction. But he was weary, and the fight had gone out of him. He would let her speak her truth. He cared not, for she had won. He was at the mercy of her brother and his kingdom. All was Aredhel's now; a home renewed, reacquainted with dear kin and the full extent of his son's love now solely in her keeping. He was truly bereft of everything.

"Speak your mind for I care not," he said as his bulk diminished with the defeated sag of his broad shoulders and bowed head.

"You care not?" came Aredhel's steady reply as she slowly turned about. The look upon her face was hard, so hard it seemed her face were made of smooth stone, like that of the tall statues that surrounded them. But her eyes were bright, and wavered with some fey emotion as they flickered in their intensity. "Surely a lord with such grievances would have more to say to the wife who abandoned him."

Eol looked at her with thinning eyes, unsure and wary of how to proceed. He could see that she strove to withhold an anger that threatened to burst forth upon him. He knew then that she had guessed his dark intent. That she had seen his hand inch towards his concealed weapon. That she had seen his cold eyes laid upon his intended victim. What had come over him in that moment of madness? His rage had far surpassed his reason, and goaded him to a fell deed that would have blackened his soul. The "why," he understood. For Maeglin was his son, and dearer to him than all his arts and works in life. To be robbed of home, treasures and livelihood meant nothing, but to lose his son to the greed of the awe inspiring Noldor. To have Maeglin stare at him with a stranger's eyes who saw not a father but a grim vagabond of whom he would be rid. Nay, that was too much to bear. The Noldor had taken much from his people, and he hated them for it. But for their haughty glory to steal away his own flesh and blood! He could hardly accept and live with that. Such was the "why," but the "how," is what confused him. He had not thought to actually do the damnable deed of taking his son's life. That had not crossed his mind as he honed the dart in the shadows of his home and dipped its tip into the poisonous concoction. He had made the foul weapon for himself, as a desperate final act against the realised proof that he was utterly forsaken by his family. He would die thus in the wild if his quarry eluded him, or if captured, he would turn the dart upon himself before the faces of his enemies and the eyes of his estranged loved ones, and his seeping blood would curse the halls of the King, calling upon a cosmic vengeance to all who had wronged him. That had been his dark plan.

But when it came to it, a madness had come over him, enhancing his rage to crimson proportions that flung away all rational thought, goading him to take both his son's life and then his own, feeding its grim satisfaction with a triumphant vision of Aredhel and Turgon's pained horror at the dismal result of their wilful actions. From where that black rage had come Eol did not know, but at Turgon's proud words that denied freedom for both him and his son, his anger had risen to a swell of evil intent, and before he knew it, his purpose was changed and his hand moved almost of its own volition to uncover the murderous weapon and grant further chaos to his prepared suicide. But Aredhel had stayed him with her startling cry. "Wait!" she had called, and his rage had dissipated to the receding memory of a foul dream. He had stood confused and shocked by the realisation of the deed he had almost carried out. The dart had been for himself, not his son. He repeated this, over and over again in his bewildered mind, seeking to understand and come to terms with the level of evil that resided within him. "I did not come to kill Maeglin," he mused. "The poison was for me and me alone." Yet he could see the blame in Aredhel's accusing stare. She knew and she would never forgive him. He would never forgive himself. At that moment Eol felt more alone than ever before, standing there within the clarity of that sorrowful thought.

"Speak!" said Aredhel as she took a step closer to him, her eyes shining ever brighter as they flickered to his breast and back to his mournful gaze. Her fisted hands trembled at her sides and her breast shook with pent up emotion. "Tell the daughter of Fingolfin why she should not have fled from such as you. Berate her for her faithlessness! Deride her treachery! Show your contempt for her betrayal!" She took a step closer, with a clenched jaw and lips grating to a grimace.

Eol looked at Aredhel, absorbing her rising anger that now mirrored his own as it was before. How bitterly strange it seemed that he had lost the high ground of the estranged spouse who was fleeced of love and loyalty by a single act of raging madness. He had no words of reply, had no recourse to a defence. He doubted Aredhel would believe him if he told her he had not meant to harm Maeglin. That his righteous anger were somehow coupled with an evil will that had pushed him towards the guilt of an horrendous act. Nay, she would never believe him. Eol sighed. "I have nothing to say," he said.

That answer seemed to incense Aredhel for at that moment, she moved. Quicker than a striking snake her hands shot up to grasp at the folds of his cloak by his right breast. Eol's hands swiftly went for her wrists, grabbing them both with vice-like strength but Aredhel's right hand clasped at what he had hidden and with a violent tug of emotional strength, she freed herself from his grasp, clutching her prize. A moment passed between them as both stared at the dart held in Aredhel's trembling hand. She studied its sharp point and blackened tip with the sickening realisation that she held the weapon that would have brought her family to utter ruin. Eol's eyes slowly moved to linger upon her, watching with bitterness and shame, seeing her wince, aghast at the wooden device of cruelty she now held.

"So this was to be Maeglin's punishment for cleaving to his mother?!" she whispered incredulously.

She turned towards him, with eyes widening in disbelief and shock. Suddenly, her left hand swept up and her open palm struck Eol across his face. He grunted his surprise at the sting, and with it came a stab of anger. But Aredhel was undaunted by the black look upon Eol's face.

"You malicious creature!" she cried, and struck Eol again with a blow that rang harder than before.

He staggered back a step and whipped back to face her with a reddening face of thunder. But Aredhel was fey, enraged by her discovery, and she was upon him again with a hand raised for another blow. But this time Eol was prepared, and even as her hand swept forth, he grabbed at it with terrible force and held her wrist with crushing strength. They glared at each other for a potent moment until Aredhel's face contorted with pain and she gasped.

"Two strikes I will give you," Eol snarled. "No more!" He bent his sneer to her grimace until they were but inches apart, his fiery blue eyes blazing to the quenching of hers. "No more!" he growled again and Aredhel nodded her retreat. But Eol slowly turned his flaming eyes to her right hand that was still raised, with the dart held firmly in her fingers. "Unless you would seek to finish what I started," he goaded. Aredhel shook her head vigorously, her eyes tearing up from the pain of his grasp.

Eol smiled darkly and turned back to her. Both his cheek and pride were still smarting from Aredhel's violence, but his boiling anger simmered and cooled as he looked into her teary eyes that now held a growing fear. Those wonderful grey eyes that had once regarded him with such warmth and trust. He felt a pang of bitterness and the rumour of regret, and became aware of how they stood; him bearing down upon her with a crushing hold upon her wrist and she leaning away from him in pain and fear. How far they had come from the blessed days they spent, entwined in loving embraces. The thought pained Eol, so much so that he released Aredhel abruptly, as though she burned to the touch. Aredhel immediately cast the dart upon the table and proceeded to massage her wrist, hissing her pain through clenched teeth.

"A brazen woman you are," said Eol, as he watched her roll her injured wrist, splaying and bunching her fingers. "Yet you go too far."

"I go too far!" Aredhel replied with disbelief. "Why, Eol. Why do such a thing to me...to your own son?!"

Eol turned aside. He could not face the accusation in her tone, in her eyes. She would not understand. She would not believe. "What makes you think that dart was intended for Maeglin?" he countered, wishing to know how deep her conviction of his guilt went.

"Spare me your guile!" Aredhel returned. "I do not care for it. Not now. Yet I will tell you that I fathomed the foul intent in your merciless eyes when you cast your evil sight upon our son, and set a hand to your breast with searching fingers. Nay, you cannot fool me. But answer me this! Why?"

"And why not!" cried Eol, his anger building again in his despair. "Maeglin is my son and heir. He is not the fosterling of Turgon or a puppet of the Noldor. He is of the Sindar! Or have you forgotten that the blood of the father takes precedence over that of the mother. That is the elven law that has ever been for generations uncounted. Yet you would choose to usurp my rights by filling my son's mind with heady notions of Noldorin glory in a bid to mock me and his Sindarin heritage. You over-proud hussy! A seductress to the last you are, even with your own son. But I am Eol, who is governed by no foreign will or counsel save my own, and least of all the will of my enemies! And if my rights to my son are denied me, then I should deny my usurpers my son!"

"Oh a bitter lord you are!" said Aredhel, grimacing at his words. "Both pitiless to me and to Maeglin. For my only crime was to miss my kin, and for many years I denied myself the indulgence of longing for Gondolin at your stern command. Yet I was not faithless, but content in our love. But as I answered Maeglin's plying questions as to my people, the curiosity of our son had me recall what I had been forced to lose by your selfish will. And in the telling was awakened in me a desire long denied for my long home. For Gondolin is also my right! But am I to be blamed for the glory of my people? For I told no lie to Maeglin, but recounted in truth whom I was of the Gondolindhrim, and of the majesty and beauty of my realm, all of which moved our son's heart. And know this too. Whatever rights you may have over our son as his father, I have mine also. For as mothers our labour is greater than the father in the begetting and raising of children. We bear the gift in the womb, and we endure the pains of birth. We suckle at the breast and give what encompasses all to a child, a mother's love. Does that account for nothing to you? Is it then so strange that Maeglin should seek to know more of his mother, and honour me and mine, irregardless of his father's curious hatreds? Yet for all that I should now endure the abuse of "hussy" and "seductress" from you, tainting my honour as a loving mother and dutiful wife. Moreso I hear you speak of elven law. If so, then I should ask where are Fingolfin's gifts, or when did you gain his or my brother's leave to wed me? For that too is elven law that has been followed for generations, of which you conveniently chose to ignore. But understand that all cannot be to what suits Eol of Nan Elmoth. That his will alone should be done. Nay! The world has other minds and purposes, which are to be respected as much as yours. That is the tolerance of true love and wisdom, to which I now beg you to refer."

Aredhel's words burned deep, touching Eol in vulnerable places that he would keep hid behind walls of defiance. Yet, however culpable he may be, she had known his mind from the first. He kept not his mood from her. And still she had accepted him as he was, with all his hatreds, and all his rules. And so he had come to trust and love her, with all his heart. And they had built a life together based on that love. But she it was who had delved the first cracks in their relationship, setting their son to work with the pick-axe. But why was he not enough for her, who had been so for many wonderful years? If only she knew how much she meant to him. That she was his whole world, giving him a new belief in the happiness of life. She had eradicated the memories and pains of old wounds that had hounded him for years uncounted. And now the darkness had flooded back, taunting and mocking him in triumph. None could ever truly love him...could ever appreciate him. Not a wife nor even a son. Always would he be deceived, straying in a mist of darkness, blindly following wisps of hopeful light that dimmed and faded at the touch. The thought filled Eol with a renewed sense of bitterness that had him sneer at Aredhel's remarks.

"Refer to wisdom, you say!" he spat. "Alas, the time for prudence has long since passed for me do you not think? Hah! Even Curufin gave me a warning from his heart of malice! "If you now pursue those who love you no more, never will you return thither," were his grim words to me. I should have listened, even to him. For such was wisdom, though it came overlate. For to me the greater wisdom was to have returned you to the borders of Nan Elmoth when first I laid eyes on you. Then I would have circumvented this tragedy upon my life, and would still have both home and livelihood."

But Aredhel's face grew dark at his words, and her eyes brightened again in heated reply. "Oh no," she cried, "do not go there my lord. Do not further reveal yourself through the folly of your bitterness."

"Coddle me not!" returned Eol. "If in your grand pride you have some all seeing insight as to my words, then say on!"

"Oh, I will," Aredhel replied, veiling her beauty with the grimness of her face. "For at least in that encounter I can hold myself blameless."

"How?" asked Eol.

"You know best do you not?" said Aredhel. "Or do you forget the way you eyed me when I was near. Or you forget the constant excuses you made whenever I asked for your guidance back to the eaves of the forest.  
"I will guide you back," you said. "But first let me show you my home. It is not far. There you shall have refreshment and then you shall rest awhile, and when you are sated of both, then will I set you on your way."  
But that was never your intent was it Eol? Nay! I saw the sly grin from which rolled a flurry of enticements, and caught the piercing glint of desire from under the heavy lids of your lecherous eyes. I knew then what you wanted of me, for you were not my saviour, but my captor in the dark, who would use me for his body's need and delight, and maybe take such by force if I ultimately refused you."

Her words hurt...hurt him to the quick. Yet they hurt because they were true. He had desired her upon their first meeting. Indeed he had lusted over her. Of that he was guilty. But did he have it in him to force himself upon her? Could he have held the ability within himself to perform such a heinous act upon so beautiful and tender a maiden, for all his unrequited desires. The darkness shifted within him, coiling out a snaking dread within the pit of his stomach. Eol quailed inside as it whispered to him.  
"Dark is your heart," it hissed. "That you know well!"  
A vision of violence flashed before his mind's eye; struggling arms; straining legs; a blood curdling cry; panting and grunting; deadening eyes in a blurred face resigned to the mastery of the pumping torso of evil that lay astride her.  
"But that never happened!" cried Eol in his inner torment. "I could never have performed a deed of such wickedness," he pleaded.  
"But you could have," came the ghastly reply. "For such darkness lies within you. She knows this as do you."  
Eol's spirit fell to its knees. "Nay, nay!" he cried. "I am Eol, a noble elf of the Teleri, not a foul creature maimed by the dark arts of the north. I am still Eol, worthy of love and honour!"  
The darkness laughed with an evil cackle that faded into the echoing depths. And then Eol was himself again, standing before Aredhel with a pained look upon his face.

He took a step back, aching from the design of his inner torment. "I...I did not force myself upon you," he uttered. Aredhel looked at Eol intently, the grimness of her face softening as she noted the strange change that had come upon him. "You stayed with me of your own free will," continued Eol, speaking now as much to himself as to his wife. "You desired me as much as I you." His eyes began to waver, and glistened with some teary emotion. Aredhel's rising concern turned slowly to shock, seeing now a deep grief in that once tearless face. Seeing a vulnerability that she had never before witnessed in that stern man. Her own anger subsided, replaced now with her own grief at their predicament. Grief at their harsh words. And with it at last came pity for Eol. She bowed her head as her own eyes teared.

"Tell me Eldis," said Eol softly. Aredhel's head shot up at that name, for it meant "Star Bride," and was the name Eol had given her, pitting her beauty with that of the stars which he loved. "Give me that truth at the very least."

Aredhel looked at him, taking in his sadness, understanding his loneliness, fathoming a strange life's story that held dark secrets of ancient griefs that he had not told her, but of which she felt lay hid behind his stern self. She had pitied him then, when first she came to know him, and she pitied him now, when she had attempted to leave him. She was sorry for his pain, and she was sorry for her part in giving him more sorrow. But she was not sorry for loving him. Eol she had chosen, and now more than ever, was the time to make him understand that.  
"Nay Elben," she replied, using her own name for him that meant "Star Husband." She gave a little smile. "You did not force yourself upon me. I stayed of my own free will with the man I grew to love. The man I still love, and the man I shall always love."

Eol heard her words and they smote his heart, and he felt the darkness fade within him. That is what Aredhel meant to him. She kept his darkness at bay with her acceptance, with her understanding and with her love. But she had taken all that away with no true inkling of what that would mean for him. He had secretly loathed the solitary life he had led before her coming. And in knowing the loving companionship she had given him, he could not live without it. So he had chosen to die, defeated at last by his inner demons. But his death would be easier to endure now. For she had loved him, for all his faults. He had to believe that. With that hopeful sentiment singing in his heart, he sank upon the chair beside him, bowed his head and put up a hand to cover his eyes. Aredhel came forward to sit beside him and bowed her head. The likenesses of the Valar stood tall in their bowed silence, seemingly respectful of the two forlorn figures who sat before them, both bent with sorrowful weeping.

 

~oOo~

The guard took hold of the golden handle and softly closed the great oaken door, sealing away from view his mother and father. Maeglin stood for a moment, staring at the door and wondering what now took place behind it. An ensuing battle of words would come of course, for such was the wont of the estranged. Yet he hoped their quarrelling would not escalate to greater evils. Maeglin envisioned his father's stern bulk, bristling with a sense of injuries done upon him by his family. Nay, he would not lay hands upon his mother, grim as he was. Still, Maeglin was nervous. He lowered himself to sit upon the third step of the dais, with his sharp eyes fixed on the door, and his addled thoughts latched onto conjured worries. He could not help it. He turned to look up at the King who he sat in conversation with his daughter, Idril. He could not hear their words for they spoke softly and at times, seemed to whisper. Maeglin sighed and turned his gaze back to the door, straining his ears for some small sound from within. But there was nothing to be heard. The door was thick in its make and ponderous in its heavy swing. Besides, council rooms were made for privacy, where important plans and discussions were held for few ears to hear, save the lords and counsellors who sat there. Maeglin sighed. He looked about the hall and frowned a little at the emptiness of its opulence. Only five pairs of guards, stood at each exit to the hall, were present. Only they and the great statue of Ulmo, poised within the marvellous pool of shimmering waters. The rest were just wide areas of shining marble and sturdy pillars, and empty benches and couches hugging the tapestried walls. The sense of emptiness was so cloying that it became a presence in itself, so much so that it soon bothered Maeglin, forcing him to stand. He needed air. There was a doorway stood at the midmost point of the northern wall of the hall which led out to a strip of sunlit garden. Maeglin stepped down from the dais.

"Where are you going?" asked the King, looking up from his quiet conversing with his daughter.

Maeglin halted and turned to him. "I feel the need of air," he replied.

"Well do not stray too far," said Turgon. "For I would have you present when your mother and father emerge from their parley."

Maeglin gave a nod and a bow, then turned and strode towards the exit. The door was opened and he passed through into the cool winds that swept the hill of Amon Gwareth. He then turned left, following a white path laid between the green arms of a vigorous strip of lawn, charmed here and there with colourful rows of celandine and uilos. The vaulting walls of the palace cast a cool shadow over him and he felt a little cold. But ahead lay the Square in all its sunlit glory. He came to it from the northward side and the lawn shone bright green before his feet, glistening here and there in wet patches from droplets cast by two masterful fountains that stood nearby, gushing forth their endless stream of sparkling water, and waving billowing sheets of spray that were caught in the airy gusts and high breezes. Birds were chirping in the high arms of the poplars which stood in tall erect ranks like nature's soldiery, bordering the white pathways like towering hedges, and whose smooth limbs waved their welcome and rustled out their leafy greetings to the groups of people who lingered at their ease beneath them. And now Maeglin noticed them; elegant ladies clad in flowing silken garments of differing hues, and bejewelled with twinkling necklaces and carcanets, and crowned with shining circlets and caps of silver and golden lace, netted with gems. And tall noble lords he saw, robed in white and grey, or armoured in silver and gold, with velvet surcoats that proudly displayed their houses. All either stood beneath the shade, or sat in easy comfort within the many couched recesses carved within the black shelf that surrounded the Square. Others walked about the criss-crossing pathways with languid steps, or sat upon the basins of the fountains or the great pool with hands laid within to caress the shivering waters. And upon all were looks of content and joyous laughter, and merry voices raised in mirth filled the air.

Maeglin envied them for they were all carefree, unlike him who awaited a knell of doom that would echo with a resounding clash upon his parents return. He stood for a moment, breathing in the fragrant airs and looking up to the warmth of the bright sun with his eyes closed. He soon felt the soft patter of spray upon his face and smiled a little at the quaint sense of pleasure it gave him. This is what he needed. Just a little time for himself to forget his troubles. He then decided to look upon the city, and walked towards the northern shelf nearby. There was an empty couch and few people lingered about. A trio sat by a fountain to his right and a pair of ladies engaged in deep conversation stood many paces away by the next recess near the opening to the Northern Highway that led down to the North Gate. Maeglin sat himself down and looked over the lip of the shelf to take in the rolling view of the northern quarter of the city that spread beneath him. The view still caught his breath as he took it all in. The multitudes of housings thatched or tiled, and domed halls with glinting spires. And open places where gardens and fountains throve, and the soft shimmer of blue pools and the sparkle of clear ponds. And there rising between the tiers were many stairways of glimmering white stone, and shadowy lanes and broad avenues.

Such was the glorious vision of an unmade city that Turgon had when first he stood upon that barren rock years ago, and Maeglin marvelled at the great mind of the King, his uncle. And now his sight went to the far off line of the great wall that surrounded the city, with its massive towers and proud parapets, and countless flags and banners rippling in the high airs upon silver spires and pointed roofs. With a discerning eye, Maeglin followed the level of the wall about the arc of the city that he could see. It stood at a level height many feet above the first tier housings. Yet he noted that to the right of the bulging guard towers of the North Gate, the top of the wall was much nearer to the ground than anywhere else. Looking closer, Maeglin could see that the wall was still level with all the other parts of it, so it had to be the ground that rose there. And indeed, he now noticed a ridge that stretched from Amon Gwareth under his very feet, like a long arm of the hill that formed an almost imperceptible rise throughout its path under the city, leading all the way to the North Gate. "Over there must lie some high point in the lay of the hill," Maeglin thought. He turned away in his musing but strangely his gaze was drawn back to that spot, and as he looked, a feeling of unease crept upon him.

"Maeglin!" called a voice from afar. He sat up and looked about him. "Maeglin!" came his name again. He turned to the pair of ladies who stood by the next recess ahead. One was beckoning to him. His heart fell. He did not want the company of strangers, or anyone for that matter. He had come outside for a bit of peace, alone. He smiled half-heartedly and gave a weak wave in their direction. What did they want with him? To ply him with searching questions no doubt, about his father and mother, and about the meeting with the King. He thought to turn away and ignore them. But no, he had already given a wave that betrayed his awareness of them. He swore inwardly; a bad habit that he had picked up from his father who rather was apt to curse aloud. Maybe if he looked away they would let him be. He tried this for a moment, turning his gaze back to the rooftop view of the city. After a tense moment he gave the ladies a swift glance and his spirits fell. His deceit was useless, for they were approaching him. Maeglin sighed and gathering himself to a forced smile, he rose to greet them. Instantly he recognised the two ladies, for he had seen them in his mother's room the day before.

"Greetings of a fair morning to you," said she who had waved. Of sharp features was her face, with slender pointed brows, oval ash grey eyes, and a straight nose sloping to a pointed tip. Her opulent lips were upturned to a somewhat alluring smile. She was clad in a white close fitting silken gown that accentuated her tall lissom body and was embroidered about the low-cut neckline and wide sleeves with silver lace. Upon her neck lay a copper carcanet of red rubies, and about her brow shone a silver circlet, fitted with a garnet of bright crimson. Her jewellery went well with her long mane of russet hair that caressed her shoulders as it fell in a wavy cascade even to her waist.

"And to you also," said Maeglin with a bow, feeling a little uneasy under the playfulness of her stare.

"You may not recall my name though doubtless you might remember meeting me," she said with a hint of mischief in her smile.

Maeglin feigned a thoughtful look and raised a hand to scratch his chin. "Let me guess," he drawled, to the amusement of the women. "You must be the lady Russafindë, held a dear friend by my mother."

Russafindë laughed. "I am indeed. But what of my friend here?" she asked, gesturing to her companion who stood next to her. She was a little shorter than Russafindë, with a slender yet graceful frame. Her oval face held a rose coloured tint to her cheeks, and her hyacinth blue eyes radiated an easy friendliness. A slight buttoned nose lay atop her delicate lips that were curved to an appealing smile. She was clad in a green gown, patterned with golden embroideries in the likeness of leaves. A pendant she wore, fitted with an emerald teardrop, and upon her head of flaxen hair that fell about her shoulders in long supple braids, sat a dainty cap of golden lace.

"Ah," exclaimed Maeglin. "The elegance of bright hair suggests you are a fair lady of the Sindar. Therefore you must be the lady Eristeth, held dearer still in my mother's heart."

Eristeth laughed as Russafindë feigned a scowl. "You know well that I am your mother's favourite," she said with a light grin. "Yet I am impressed by your memory, for our former introduction was fleeting."

"It was," said Maeglin. "But it were easy to recall you both. For of the six ladies whom I saw, only you and lady Eristeth bore the red and the gold."

Russafindë smiled with a raised brow. "The red and the gold! Soundly put I suppose. Yet I like it, for it is to the point."

"I meant no offence my lady," said Maeglin gravely. "I am not used to speech with the high and noble. I fear I have yet to learn lordly manners."

"Pay her no mind," said Eristeth, putting out a consoling hand to his arm. "She is teasing you! But come, how fare you in the city? Have you yet been to the Great Market, or walked the hallowed square of Gar Ainion, or seen the staircase falls of the Way of Running Waters, or...?"

"Peace Eristeth!" cried Russafindë, raising a halting hand. "Let the young man breath." She turned to Maeglin. "My apologies for Eristeth's torrent of questions," she said with a disarming smile. "What she meant to ask is are you settled well in our city?"

Maeglin fought the urge not to look crestfallen, for settled he truly was not. "I have not seen much as I only arrived yestermorn. However, I have seen something of the palace and it has been a true lesson in the sublime."

"Ah, the King's Palace," said Russafindë, looking up to its white walls and high balconies, and the piercing rise of its grand towers glinting in the sun. "A dwelling fit for a mighty king to be sure. Yet it is but an echo of the beauty of the Palace of Finwe upon Tuna." She sighed wistfully and paused. Maeglin could plainly see that she was caught up in some distant memory or yearning thought.

"Ugh, pay her no mind again," said Eristeth, breaking the silence. She took Maeglin's arm and guided him to the couch. "The Noldor hold an annoying melancholy for places unknown to we poor denizens of Middle-earth." She continued, unperturbed by Russafindë's glance towards her. She sat herself down and drew Maeglin beside her. "And by their sudden fits of longing do they tell us of the Blessed Realm and their past works of glory," she proceeded, cocking an eye at Russafindë's amused scowl. "Their sorrowful recollections and musings are informative at times, but tiresome all the same."

"You should now pay her no mind," said Russafindë to Maeglin, as she swept down to settle beside him. He felt a little uncomfortable, meshed between those two playfully formidable ladies. "For Eristeth is jealous that she and her people never had the pleasure of knowing the Valar, or the honour of dwelling with them in their blessed land."

"That may be," said Maeglin, summoning the courage to utter words that might be received with offence or amusement. The ladies were harmlessly toying with him of course, but he thought to hold his own in their banter. "Yet I would question whether Aman is all the Noldor report it to be, for did you all not abandon that blessed land, seeking the betterment of greener pastures?" A potent silence fell with both ladies staring agape at Maeglin. He turned his head from one to the other, holding his breath in anxiety over his jest. Suddenly Russafindë and Eristeth burst out laughing, their chortling becoming so loud as to turn a few heads their way. Maeglin sighed his relief and chuckled. At least the Gondolindhrim had a sense of humour.

"Well said, son of Irissë, well said," cried Russafindë between her fits of laughter.

"We have the makings of a pert prince, to be sure," said Eristeth, shaking her smiling head. "You have your mother's impertinence, and that shall please the King. Hah!"

"All too true," said Russafindë, finally bringing her laughter to cease. "And I see Irissë, or rather King Nolofinwë in your face and bearing." Her expression gradually became serious. "But what of your father?" she asked quietly. "What traits do you bear from him?"

Maeglin's face darkened at the question. He turned to Eristeth and found her as attentive as ever, almost peering at him from where she sat. Maeglin shifted uncomfortably, thinking of what to say. He did not want to think of his father, let alone speak of him. All about his family was so complicated. Indeed, his parents were shut away at that very moment, locked in a battle of estranged wills and whose outcome still hung in the balance.

"Can you not say aught of him to us?" Eristeth asked softly, laying a gentle hand upon his shoulder as she leaned towards him with a coaxing smile. Then it hit Maeglin. This was the conversation they had planned to wean out of him from the very start. They wanted to know about Eol and probably glean all the information they could on what was afoot within the palace. He swore inwardly.

"All we want is a little insight as to this man who wed our friend," said Russafindë, "for we know absolutely nothing about him."

"Save that Irissë was far from pleased to hear of his coming," said Eristeth.

Maeglin had had enough. Confused as he was about his relationship with his father, it were easy to see that these women viewed Eol darkly, and that roused a strange sense of offence in him. He rose abruptly from the couch and turned to them both.  
"I know not what you have heard or what you have surmised, but I have nothing to say that might add to hurtful gossip against my father and mother." The ladies upturned faces darkened a touch at that. "Furthermore, if you are my mother's dear friends, then to her should your questions be given. I however came out to the Square for a moments peace and..."

"And peace you shall have!" The voice came from behind and Maeglin turned to see Idril's swift approach from the main entrance to the palace. Maeglin gazed at her as she neared, absorbing the sight of her with warm eyes. Of course he had seen her in the throne room, but there she was seated in her sombre yet dignified majesty, and he had paid her little mind, being filled with trepidation as to the coming of his father. But now he saw her anew, sweeping towards him under a clear blue sky and the shining light of the late morning sun. She wore a queenly white gown, embroidered about the high neckline and thin sleeves with golden traceries and patterns. Embracing her waist was a girdle of silver, jewelled with diamonds. Her supple neck was graced with a silver necklace, banded with ten starry gems and hanging from the centre was a single teardrop of a misty pearl. Of Mithril was her circlet, shaped in the likeness of leaves sprouting from a twisted vein of shapely curvatures that encased a round sapphire at the centre. Her golden hair was pulled back to fall in a single plait of twisted finery down to her waist. Her flawless face shone bright in the sun, enhanced by the steady glow of her lilac blue eyes that scanned ahead. Idril was indeed a vision of elven elegance, being effortless in her grace and radiant in her beauty. Maeglin smiled his appreciation of her timely arrival.

Idril halted before Maeglin and put a gentle hand to his shoulder. "Are you alright cousin?" she asked, radiating concern.

Maeglin's smile brightened even further. "I am now that you are here," he replied. And he declared so with truth, for his unease under the sense of entrapment from the two devious ladies was fast fading now that Idril was come. Maeglin could not yet fully understand why, but he felt a sense of ease and comforting familiarity when he were with her. They had spent only an hour together the day before, when Idril had showed him the ways of the palace, guiding him about the corridors and winding staircases, and showing him opulent halls and lofty views of flowery beauty that lay upon the high shelves and terraces of the palace. They had not had time to get to know each well, yet he had felt close to her, as if they had known each other long and were now reunited after a measured absence.

Idril smiled at him and turned her attention to Russafindë and Eristeth who were both stood and gave light curtsies and the apt "Your Highness," to their princess. "My ladies," said Idril in reply to their show of honour. "Have I come upon a fair meeting between friends or is it otherwise?" she asked somewhat gravely.

Eristeth bowed her head sullenly but Russafindë was not so easily daunted. "We are all friends here my lady," she replied confidently. "We decided to join Maeglin and enjoy the morning together with sally and jest."

"And yet your pleasantries seem to have gone awry," Idril coolly replied, "unless I misheard Maeglin's sues for peace from your jests and prying questions."

A windy silence fell, laden with the unease of a veiled reprimand by a grave princess to her subordinates. Eristeth was downcast and Maeglin shifted uncomfortably where he stood, but though Russafindë cast her sharp glance down in supplication, her tight-lipped sigh and stiff posture betrayed a defiance to the royal rebuke. But Idril turned to Maeglin. "Perhaps you might deem to walk with me instead," she said to him, lightening the dourness of her face with a simple smile.

"Of course," replied Maeglin gratefully. Suddenly he remembered why he was out there in the first place, and a realisation came to him as to Idril's presence. She had come to call him back to the throne room! His face darkened as forgotten fears and trepidations coiled and swelled their bleak return in the pit of his stomach. "Have they come back?" he asked her, staring with wide eyes. Russafindë and Eristeth's heads swiftly rose to Maeglin with questioning faces, but Idril gave him a quick shake of her head; her smile fading to seriousness once more. Maeglin was relieved, for he was not yet ready to face that dire situation that hung over his ease as an unwelcome cloud of emotional tension. And then he was aware of the two ladies whom at Idril's gesture of denial, had turned to each other with looks of affirmation as to their guesses. Maeglin realised then that his fearful question had revealed more to them than anything he could have let himself say under their artful questioning. He was at fault to be sure, yet his unsettled nerves recked little of careful consideration as to his words on the difficult matter of his parents. He swore inwardly again.

Idril lightly took hold of Maeglin's arm. "Come, let us walk the Square together," she said. They had gone a few steps when Russafindë's words halted them.

"We have a right to know what is afoot," she said, "for Irisse is our dear friend whom we care for deeply."

"That may be," Idril replied, turning back slowly. "And if so, then whatever is afoot should come to your ears by Irisse herself, and not her son."

"And how should that come to pass, as we have been denied entry into the palace to see or speak with her?" asked Russafindë. Her sharp face darkened with frustration as she spoke.

"Whoever's command it was to deny you, you may be sure it was not mine," replied Idril. Her face then softened a little. "I know not what more to say for your comfort," she added.

Maeglin looked at the two ladies who seemed to whither before him in their helplessness. He knew they meant well, showing their concern as only dear friends could...and should. He felt pity for them but he was helpless too, awaiting word from the parley with as much clout as a bystander, though he were their son. He sighed.

"I beg you my Lady, when next you see Irisse, please convey that our thoughts are with her," said Eristeth mournfully. Idril gave a nod and Eristeth turned then to Maeglin. "And please forgive us our covert enterprise, for we knew no other way of gleaning anything about the state of your mother, whom was quite out of sorts when last we saw her."

Maeglin gave back a little smile. "It is quite alright," he said. "I am sure by day's end you shall be sated in your knowledge as to my mother's state. Yet I will tell you that she was fine when last I left her."

"But what about...," uttered Russafindë, but Maeglin held up a hand.

"Nay ladies!" he cried. "I have nothing more to say on the matter." He bowed to them both. "Farewell!" With that, Maeglin turned and walked away, arm in arm with Idril Celebrindal.

 

~oOo~

Aredhel sat in silence surrounded by the repressive gloom of the Council Chamber. The cosy orange glow of the lamps upon the walls now seemed meagre, oppressed by the dark shadows that stained the light with wide fingers of blackness. The statues stood ominous in their silence and menacing in their bright stares. Aredhel sat facing the right wall that held the row of Valier. Their gaze seemed a little softer, as powerful matriarchs of pity, looking down upon two children of mischief, and chiding them with gentle rebukes of reason. But the Vala behind her were harsher in their starry glares, as mighty lords of dignity and virtue who looked upon her and Eol with stern reproach and blame for their perceived failings. Aredhel sighed, thinking this was not the place she would have chosen to speak with Eol, but it had been nearest at hand for their privacy.

She thought back to their hard words spoken against each other. At first she had thought to placate Eol as best as she could, but the thought of what was concealed within his cloak had troubled her. Her guesses and foreboding had only taunted her to reveal what she feared and with her dread had risen a righteous anger. She looked darkly at the foul weapon that lay upon the table, with its sharp point and blackened tip that was surely some kind of poison, coated as an evil failsafe to her son's livelihood. Aredhel had never been so angry, or felt so betrayed. Eol had thought to kill their son! Through the red haze of ire at the damning thought, she had lost all noble reservation and had struck her husband for his black intent. Aredhel marvelled a little at her boldness, but when it came to her beloved son, she would fight with all the passion of a cornered beast against anything that would harm him. Even Eol.

Aredhel turned to look at him now. He sat as a vision of heavy-heartedness enmeshed in the murk of his gloom, hunched over the table with a bowed head. She had never seen him weep before. She did not even think it were possible for Eol to ever weep for anything, such was his stoic will. Yet he had, and for long too, as if he also wept for other sorrows that lay deep in his misty heart. There was much indeed that Eol had never spoken about his long life, old secrets and ancient hurts which still tortured him. Indeed, he was a strange man, ever wilful and proud, yet vulnerable at a pinch, which could either induce a great anger or a pitiful sorrow. Aredhel had been closest to his lonesome heart, yet knew little of him or his life. He had spoken of himself at times, but there were always long gaps between his tales, or he would speak only of his present with her and shunned the past as being of little importance to him or his love for her, and she had accepted that. And though she had wanted to share her past with him, he had denied her that, saying her life in Aman or Vinyamar and Gondolin mattered not to him. Only their life under the shadows of Nan Elmoth is what truly mattered. But now his murderous intent towards Maeglin is what mattered to her. Indeed she had been filled with pity at his sudden and unexpected show of emotion, and she had told him that she still loved him, and that was true enough. Yet she could not forgive him for the threat upon Maeglin. Perhaps she never would. What that meant for them moving forward, she did not know. But nothing was yet resolved concerning how this day should end. She had to return to it.

"Eol," Aredhel said softly. He did not stir. "Eol," she said again a little louder. Still he did not answer or move. She sighed. "Eol, we must settle all between us. We must find some compromise to our situation."

"What accomodations to my needs should I hope to look forward to?" he asked, leaning back to sit straight as he turned to her. His eyes were ruddy from weeping but his jaw was clenched in renewed defiance. "Your brother has laid his law before me with two choices only. Either to remain here or to die. The former I cannot endure so I shall seek the latter, both for my honour and for your everlasting shame. What else is there to speak of?"

Aredhel winced a little. Evidently his vulnerability were now hidden again behind his spite and pride. So it was to be with Eol this day. One step forward and two steps back. "Eol, be kind to me please," she urged, leaning forward and putting her hand upon his arm. "Could living here with me and our son be such a blight to you as to warrant your death as the only alternative. Do you hate my people that much?"

"Yes," came his blunt answer.

"You hate my people that much?" she repeated, echoing her growing incredulity.

"Yes!" he cried with such venom that Aredhel leaned back, startled. He pulled his arm away from her touch and regarded her with glinting eyes. "Be kind to me you say," he grimaced. "You ask that of me now! I am held in the clutches of my enemies and bereft of my freedoms, but where was your kindness when you plotted to leave me? Where was your concern when you passed under the mountains, secure in your relief in having thwarted me, being rid of the sight of Eol and the memories of his home. You speak of how I am the man you still and always will love. Hah! How touching would your words be if they held any truth. But I am no dolt, for only a simpleton would believe such drivel. Yet you mistake me lady if you think I followed you in yearning for your love."

"Nay lord," said Aredhel, her own anger rising once again to challenge his. "You followed with the dark thoughts that are your wont. To be avenged against me with the murder of our son was your plan."

Eol flicked up his hand in a vigorous wave of dismissal. "Ah, think what you will about that," he cried, turning away to the dim shadows. "It matters not anyway. I came hither with death in mind and whether it be my own or my son's or both, such is the way of it."

Aredhel was so incensed by Eol's obstinacy that she growled her frustration as she rose to her feet. "You rigid man!" she vented with waving arms and stomping feet. "What would you have me do? If I could turn back the sands of time to the day I rode away from Nan Elmoth, I would."

"But why start there," said Eol, still facing the shadows. "Why not go back to the day you set out from Gondolin. It would have been mercy and a blessing to me to have never met you."

"That I will never wish for," said Aredhel, her voice breaking with emotion. "For I would have never conceived our son who is the true mercy and blessing for us both."  
Eol slowly turned his face to look at her, his grim features lined by chiselled shadows.  
"Do you not see that Eol? Both our lives were lonely in many ways. With me I had many friends and many suitors, yet to none was my heart inclined. And I wondered at that. Who was my heart waiting for? And you abode alone with but few servants."  
She thought of them now; hunting with Durthor and Gwathanar, and Morphen "The Silent" hammering at the forge. She thought also of Dolwen laying the table and Lumeth "The Dark Eyed" at work about the homestead. They all were somewhat grim elves of few words, save for Morphen who said nothing at all. Yet Aredhel missed them, for they had been her companions for many years, though she had gleaned little of their pasts, as they were as secretive as their master.  
"However, I know you Eol," Aredhel continued. "I know of the joy you felt in finally having a wife with whom to share the passing years, just as my heart found the joy it had long sought in you whom I chose to wed. But in Maeglin was our happiness and content cemented, with love's true meaning made flesh by his blessed birth. I know you understand this, for I saw your pleasure as you reared him through boyhood, and discerned your fatherly pride as you taught him your skills in crafting and forgery when he became a man."

"And yet you came between us," said Eol.

Aredhel hesitated a reply. Eol was right in that at least, but it were not all her fault. "What came between you and your son was what lay between you and me," she answered with glistening eyes. "For it was a defect in you to take to wife a lady whose kindred you hated. But what was my hope? Ever I clung to the desire that one day you would see reason, or at the very least you would accept my people because of your love for me. But no! You stubbornly held onto your hatreds, and remained faithless to my desire to the very end. But Maeglin did not scorn his mother's people. Nay, he is better than his father in that regard, and that is a solace."  
Aredhel sighed and faltering in her sorrow, she sank back down into her chair. She felt the tears rolling softly down her cheeks, which to her were the flowing trails of wrongs done upon her by the one man who should have accepted her most.  
"At first, I told Maeglin of my kin with no more intent than to sate his interest and answer his questions. Yet as time drew on I realised how much I truly missed my people and this city, built in memory of Tirion upon Tuna, my long home beyond the sea. Indeed, I marvelled at how I first wearied of Gondolin, and so was awoken in me a desire greater than ever before to return hither. And in the long musings of the night, I argued with myself as to why I was caged within the confides of the Echoriath, only to be caged on the outside too, within the dim forests of Nan Elmoth. I had given as much of myself to you as I possibly could, but now I would return home, with my son who was of like mind. Yet my uttermost desire would have been to return with you also, riding the plain to the city as a triumphant trio, returning to the honour of the city and its people."

"And now you talk like a little girl," said Eol with a grim tone, "doting upon an unsupportable dream with no thought of consequence if all should go awry." Eol shook his head. "A triumphant trio returning to honour. Hah!"

Aredhel looked at him defiantly. "Scorn and belittle me all you want, yet that was my ultimate wish for us, as foolish as that may sound."

"It does sound foolish," Eol replied. "Foolish and juvenile. Yet it is easy to reckon who should bear the ultimate blame for what has occurred between us Aredhel. It is you. I say this not out of malice but out of truth. A truth you seem to run from with every word you say. For you elected to remain with me and become my wife, and I was forthright with you from the very beginning on how I felt about your people. That would have been your chance to deny me, but you chose otherwise. But when your flights of fancy had had their way with me, you chose to flee back to Gondolin with my son in tow, thinking I would somehow accept that. Yet as you said, you know me. If that is true then you knew I would pursue you, and there was a chance I would find you. So I did, and now I too am ensnared in a cage, and you are somewhat revenged. But the difference between your confinement and mine is that little held you fast when you were with me. All that truly withheld you from escape was your so called love for me. Well, if I accept that, then what of me? For I am imprisoned by a great host, with no hope of escape in any way imaginable. Whether I were to hold back for a time due to love for you and Maeglin, or whether I should tire of this city as you tired of me and Nan Elmoth, my miserable fate is to remain here until my life's end. Tell me then, who's caging is better?"

"Neither," said Aredhel. "for I am against all policies of confinement, be they for the safety of a realm, or the certainty of love. But such are the rules that beset our union, and so we must decide how to live with our fateful decision to love each other."

"And thus my decision is death," said Eol, almost casually.

"That is unacceptable," returned Aredhel.

"Nay, what is unacceptable is our cumbersome talk that meanders about the same arguments!" cried Eol, rising from his seat in anger. "Come! We have said all that we can to each other. Now comes the judgement and an end to this sorry tale." He turned and strode towards the door.

"Eol!" Aredhel cried after him. He halted just short of the door. She was at her wits end, sensing her failure in prying Eol's wisdom loose. His stubborn pride had won the day. Aredhel slowly rose, wearied in emotion and desperate in anguish of heart. "Whatever you may say to Turgon, I would ask...nay, I demand this last thing of you." Eol turned back to her and stood as a dark figure in the shadows, save his glinting eyes. But Aredhel was not daunted. "Let your words henceforth speak to this fact. You may owe me nothing and you may choose to owe yourself nothing, but you owe our son. You owe Maeglin. Remember that!"

Eol stood silent for a moment before turning to open the door. The light of the hall brightened the council room as a rush of keen air swept in. Aredhel closed her eyes to it and breathed deeply. She had tried, but she had failed. There was nothing more to do save to stand in silence and let fate decide her family's future. It looked bleak. It looked hopeless. She had no more expectations. She would let the pieces fall where they may. Aredhel's gaze went to the dart upon the table, and she regarded it with faint disgust, reaching hesitantly for it. She did not want to touch the thing, but it could not be left there as dire evidence of Eol's evil intent. Swiftly she picked it up, holding it with revulsion. Then she drew herself forward with effort, for a weariness came over her again. She went to the open door, and there caught Turgon's voice ordering Eldacalwë to seek Idril and Maeglin and bring them back to the hall. At his name a vision of her son's handsome face filled her mind's sight. She looked down at the dart. "My beautiful child," she muttered tearfully as she hid the weapon within the inner linings of her dress. "My poor beautiful child."

 

Author's Commentary:  
Nothing to say except I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.  
Thanx!


	4. Chapter 4

OF EOL AND AREDHEL

Chapter Four...  
Maeglin passed over the sunlit square with a sense of ease and pleasure in the company of Idril who walked beside him. Lords and Ladies gave solemn nods or curtly bowed to them as they passed by, each greeting answered by a returned nod and gracious smile from Idril. Maeglin still felt awkward by the courtesy of such nobility as he did not feel regal enough to deserve it. He stiffened in his discomfort and bent his head to look down at his feet. Idril must have noticed for he felt her arm that was locked about his tighten and pull him closer to her.  
"It is all right cousin," she said softly. "Just the mere courtesies of a bright morning in Ondolindë."

Maeglin raised his gaze and took in the warmth of her smile and the sparkle of her starry eyes. He marvelled at how just the sight of her reassured him. He who stood upon the threshold of a royal inheritance, and yet was dogged by household quarrels yet to be resolved. But Idril, with her faultless grace and impervious dignity, was by his side to comfort and guide him. That was more than enough.  
"I do not know what to do with myself before their polite scrutiny," he said in an effort to explain himself. "Everyone sees me as an heir to the house of Turgon yet so much still lies in doubt." He stopped and turned to the white palace behind them, shining bright in all its glorious magnificence. The flowery greenery of the upper floors flashed their colourful hues in the sunlight, waving a luxurious sense of royal comfort in the keen airs. The high balustraded balconies, the glistening windows, all woven into the immaculate craftmanship of Noldorin stonemasonary. The exquisite sight made Maeglin all the more sorrowful and angry that he might be forced to leave it all. "I wonder what my father and mother are saying to each other," he said softly, as his mind conjured troubled thoughts about his parents.

Idril gave a soft tug at his arm that brought his attention back to her. "Come, let us sit awhile," she said, motioning to the purple cushions of a recess carven in the western shelf of the square that lay a little way ahead of them. Maeglin sighed as he was led by the hand to where they both settled down with the light of the sun in their faces and the Square of the King sprawling before them.  
"I must apologize for Eristeth and Russafindë's inquisitiveness," said Idril after a while. "It is only a show of concern for their dear friend."

"I know it well," replied Maeglin. "And I myself share their concern. My parents have been away for too long. What heated arguments and dark insinuations that now pass between them fill me with fear." He turned to look at Idril. "You must think us a strange family," he said.

Idril smiled. "I will not deny it," she replied, looking back at him. "But I think there is more to fathom about this grave matter."

"What do you mean?" said Maeglin with a perplexed look.

"I will speak plainly and I hope you will not take offence," she replied.

"You could never offend me," said Maeglin, "for in your words lies wisdom, and you are a comfort to me. Gladly would I hear what you have to say."

Idril smiled again. "You flatter me, cousin," she said. "Therefore let me tell you what I see to be the situation." She looked away, towards the palace, and her face became grave. "When your father came to stand before us, I felt a darkness that came with him. Yet it was more than his anger. It was something else, remote yet potent, with him and yet not of him. A black will of epic design maybe, that sought to cause great harm to Ondolindë and its people."  
Maeglin blanched a little at her dark words, and it seemed to him as if the sun's warmth chilled a little, and its radiance faltered about them. Idril turned back to him and gently took his hand in her own.  
"I felt this, and was filled with a growing dread, seeing Eol stand before us, bristling with ire and dark intent. And that dark will grew with every moment, threatening to burst forth in an act of sudden rashness to grievous result. But the darkness was vanquished by a single word. Wait! That is what your mother cried, and when she gave that command, my dread was lifted. And even upon Eol, your father, the shadow that lay upon him was gone. Therefore I say to you that I am certain all shall turn out well this day. An evil turn has somehow been averted, and my heart feels no trace or residue of it. So do not be troubled, cousin, for though all is not settled this day, yet its outcome shall not be ill for you or your family."

Maeglin looked to the shining palace, gleaming with purity and hopeful design that he would gladly partake, were it not for the darkness of his father's purpose. How he wished his father had not found them, and that Eol had not dimmed his joy and delight in the city and its people and the relishing prospect of becoming a great prince of the realm. Yet even so Idril's hopeful words comforted him, and though she knew not Eol as he did, yet somehow her words rang true with him. He looked at her smiling face and grinned.

"I hear you," he finally said with a soft nod. "I will not despair but will hope as you do. Perhaps my father will forgive us, and that he may well do for my mother's sake as he loved her dearly."

"I do not doubt it," said Idril. "Yet it may be his love for you that decides all."

Maeglin sighed wistfully as he thought of his bond with Eol that had faltered as the years drew on. They had been close, and Eol had taken great pride in his son, seeing himself in Maeglin's natural talents in his craft. They had journeyed many times to the dwarven halls of Nogrod, and once to Belegost, delighting in the dwarven teachings and friendships they had made. And in the shadows of Nan Elmoth, Eol had spoken to him of a far past of starlit peace, and taught him the histories of the Sindar and their customs.

"You are a scion of those people," Eol would say after a day's toil at the forge that had them sit in pleasant weariness with mugs of walnut wine that Molwen made. "We are the greatest of the elvish peoples of Beleriand for we are of this land. We who tended its forests and shaped its landscapes for years uncounted. We who still follow the ancient elvish customs that are untainted by Valinorean pride and self importance, or by the lofty doctrines and misty designs of the Vala. For the Golodhrim forget that we as elves are not of the Ainur and so did not awaken in Aman. Middle-earth is our long home and the Sindar and Silvan elves are its masters. Remember that! The newcomers would cheapen us with their vaulting pride and disdain. Fools! They lived too long with Powers they do not understand, basking in a glory not of their own making. But we have stayed true to Eru Allfather's original intent, and here have built earthy delights of our own design. For Menegroth is our Tirion yet more, for it lies in the lands of our awakening. Therefore have pride in your father's people my son, for we are indeed greater than you know."

Such were Eol's words to him as he grew to manhood and he had taken them to heart until by sheer curiousity, he had begun to question his mother about the Noldor. Soon her musings began to move him the more they spoke together for her words were not stern but filled with melancholy of a light now dimly recalled. A light filled with majesty and starry beauty. A light of nobility and high purpose. And Maeglin would look at his shadowy surroundings that spoke of a life of meagre means and ends. Content as he had been, he realised he could be so much more. But Eol could not understand that his son was not just of the Sindar, but of the Noldor too. He was a child of both the Dawn and the Twilight.

"Maeglin," came a soft voice. His unseeing eyes focused again upon his cousin.

"My thoughts were well away," he said to her. "Memories of my father and I when there was naught that stood between us,"

"You were close to him?" said Idril.

"Yes," Maeglin replied with a sigh. "He taught me to cherish the pride of the Sindar, and I do not forget that side of me...and yet,"

"Yet you are of the Noldor also," Idril finished. Maeglin gave a nod. "I understand," she continued. "It was a strange coupling for Aredhel and Eol to be drawn together. Yet stranger still is the fate of the Noldor in Middle-earth, and many Sindar are drawn into it by unforeseen means." She sighed. "Our own past is dogged by a darkness from which we are not free and yet of which many of us choose to forget. But not I. Nay, I am ever mindful of our past deeds that had us come to this land, and yet for all the happiness we have cultivated, I am filled with cautious doubt. Yet even so, hope is ever at my core, and today it were renewed against all odds." She pressed Maeglin's hand. "Therefore I say again, fear not cousin, for I deem all shall turn out well this day, for you and I both. And that gladdens me as I should be sorry to lose my newfound cousin. And know that whatever trials we might face, I will be at your side, now and in all the days of our abiding in Ondolindë."

Maeglin's smile brightened yet at that moment a guard came towards them from the palace and they both turned to his approach. He bowed before them. "Lady Idril, my lord, your presence is requested within the King's Hall."

A shadow swept over Maeglin's newfound hope. "Are my mother and father returned?" he asked.

"They are, my lord."

"Very well, we shall come." said Idril.

He bowed again and turned away. Idril turned to Maeglin's distressed form. "I...I am not ready," he stammered.

"By your side, now and always," she reassured.

Maeglin looked at her again, taking strength from her solemn assurance, her potent conviction, her wise words. He marvelled at his good fortune to have such a cousin. He would put all his trust in her.

"Now and always," he said.

They both rose and hand in hand, made their way with purposeful steps towards the palace.

~oOo~

Aredhel stood a moment by the Council Room door, surveying the throne room with wearied eyes. Turgon sat upon his throne, imperious in his posture, with a piercing glance set upon Eol who now strode to where he had stood before. She could see Eldacalwë's receding form reach the far threshold to the hall, and disappear from sight into the light of day outside. How she wished for light. How she wished to feel the sun's warmth upon her face, hearing the innocent chirping of the birds and feel the moist gust of spray from the fountains outside. She could see herself there, smiling in the cool morning breeze with a renewed sense of purpose, being home again after a long exile of sorts. But no, she was trapped in the dim recesses of an emotional turmoil, and withered by the baggage of fearful musings on what should happen next for her family.

What did Eol plan to say or do? Their talk had ultimately resolved nothing. Eol was still intent upon defying Turgon, which could only lead to his demise, be it in the dungeons below that lay encased within the ponderous stone of Amon Gwareth, or by death...She would not let herself entertain that thought and as such, forced herself forward, walking a little unsteadily towards the base of the king's dais. She had reached the bottom step to the throne when Eldacalwë reappeared, striding back from the light and soon after came Maeglin and Idril. Aredhel's composure softened a little, for she saw that they walked hand in hand. She could have wept, seeing her cousin give her undeniable support to her son. That was something. She turned her sight to Eol, but his gaze was fixed upon Turgon, blazing with challenge and a defiant resolve. She physically felt weak and emotionally felt helpless and all but wanted this sorry drama to end. Yet it could not, not until the final act which were now. The ultimate climax to that fateful decision she had made all those years earlier when she had resolved to leave Gondolin. She would not regret that choice, for Maeglin's sake, and yet a part of her did...for Eol's.

She looked up at Turgon and saw his hand slowly curl about his staff of doom, and it felt as if all her hopes, her happiness, her content were sliding away. Sliding into the hands of two opposing wills, that of a King and of a Husband. The thought brought forth a pang of bitterness and even anger. "Men," came the notion. "Should such as these rule my fate? To curb my wings that I should not freely soar the airs, unbound by their pride and folly." Her face darkened, yet a softer voice echoed back to her. "Maybe, yet much blame rests upon your shoulders also, and for wilfulness and desire, you also must share the blame."Aredhel sighed at that, knowing and accepting the truth of it.

Thus they all stood before the throne of Turgon, with Eol at the centre, dark and defiant. Maeglin and Idril stood to his left, both forgoing the honour of the seat and right hand of the dais, and Aredhel stood to Eol's right with head forlornly bowed and both hands clasped before her. Eldacalwë stood tall and stern behind Eol in readiness for any rash act that could ensue.

Turgon eyed Eol a moment then turned to his sister. She felt his gaze upon her but did not raise her eyes to meet his. She was defeated and would therefore defer all into his keeping. He seemed to realise this and so turned back to Eol.  
"Well, Eol of Nan Elmoth," he began. "You have spoken with your wife and are now returned. My judgement still stands that you will either abide indefinately in Ondolindë or die here. What say you to my decree?"

A silence fell that had Aredhel raise her eyes. Eol's face was dark with anger, and his eyes blazed in their returned stare at the king. Aredhel felt herself tremble a little, in fear and anticipation to his reply. That soon came, and it offered no hope to her.

"I deny your decree as it denies me," he said bluntly.

Turgon seemed to nod, as if acknowledging what he had already surmised. Of course it were so, thought Aredhel. What wise man would think otherwise, that a proud elf such as Eol could have pity upon her and curb himself to her desperate need for a peaceful resolution. She had had a fools hope for it but not her brother, and it irked her that he was right. Now all were in the King's hands and his next words would rule her family's fate forever. And even now Turgon lift his rod from the iron clutch of the talons that held it, readying himself to bring it down with a dint of doom.

"However, I would have you hear my own say in this matter," came Eol's words.

Turgon paused and Aredhel, Maeglin and Idril turned as one to look at him, all startled in their surprise. Turgon slowly lowered the rod, eyeing Eol intently, and Aredhel gazed at her husband, utterly confused.  
"Very well," said Turgon after a moment. "I will hear you."

Eol gave a smirk that slowly contorted into a grimace. "Upon my arrival to my wife's realm I have been all but mistreated by her people. I was withheld in fetters and treated with disdain by your servants at the gates. I were then shamefully forced to traverse the long miles to the city on foot whilst tethered to one of your guard. No welcome or honour in being the husband to the princess of the realm did I receive. And coming before the very throne, the king laid his law upon me that I should remain here, a captive until the end of my days. How should I endure such an affront from supposed kin?"  
He turned his searing gaze to Maeglin and Idril and then to Aredhel who averted her eyes in shame. He turned back to Turgon who remained steadfast to his words. "Yet I am no lowly vagabond, or some traveller of little consequence who happened upon the Hidden Way in his adventurous inquisitiveness. Nay, I am a lord of the Sindar who governs his own realm as you govern yours. More respect should have been afforded me, even were I not husband to your sister."

"And more may have been afforded you had your mood been fairer towards my people," said Turgon.

Eol's brow darkened at that. "I might have loved the Golodhrim more were it not for your senseless pride and black deeds. Dark elves you call us, being a crude people in your estimation, who are blind to the wonders of the Valar and their great wisdom. Yet why did you and your people return hither, turning your backs on the enlightenment to which you all were born?" Eol smirked. "You see yourselves as better than us? You who willfully defied your Valinorean masters, and treated the Blessed Realm with disdain, as arrogant children who lash out foolishly against the wisdom of your elders. Ah! And yet your dark deeds followed you even here. Worse deeds than any the Moriquendi could be accused of. For did you not slay my own kindred who followed you across the sea? Were it not orc work that you did, even in the Blessed Realm! Yet you came back to Middle-earth to flaunt your misplaced sense of self importance to we who remained faithful and untarnished. Nay! My disdain for you and yours is justified, and even the Valar would agree with me, for have they themselves not abandoned you, and cursed you all for your fell deeds!"

Now it were Turgon's turn to darken, and he shifted in his high seat, both troubled and annoyed by Eol's grim words. But Eol's smirk broadened as if he knew his words had hit the mark. And to Aredhel it seemed as if each word Eol uttered smote her with a dint of hatred that sought to tarnish her and her people. He relished his theatre, goading the king relentlessly to anger, such as one who gave no more thought to preservation before his judge, but only sought to sate his wounded pride with menacing words ere he received a stern sentence. Aredhel sighed as she was weary. She had tried all she could to no avail. This was Eol's moment before his fall. She could do no more to save him from himself.

"And so coming before you," Eol continued, "you bid me accept your command in meekness to your Golodhrim pride, giving up my wife and my blood to your power, as well as my freedom. Well, such is the way of it, yet it is strange since only in Angband should such a fate be realised for one ensnared by the power of Morgoth. But to see it done in Gondolin too?"

Eldacalwë murmured behind Eol and Aredhel groaned inwardly but Turgon held up a hand to silence him. Eol, however continued undetered. "So here I stand, bereft of all that I love and stripped of all that is my right. However, as resigned to my fate as I might be, still, I am no fool. I cannot challenge the power that now seeks to imprison me, yet neither will I wither in the face of it in defeat. For I am proud also and therefore will not be denied, even before a king of elves! Therefore, as you have given me terms to live by henceforth, which I utterly reject, I rather have two choices that I shall put to you."

Aredhel raised her head at this to stare intently at her husband. This was new and unexpected. He had two choices! What was Eol's angle in this she wondered.

"And so hear me now O' king!" said he. "Your sister is returned to you after many years in which you thought her dead, yet I had her in my keeping as my wife. Now I will concede that I am somewhat at fault as seen within the laws of the Eldar, to have taken Aredhel as my bride without the consent of her family. And though no word or gift could I have sent to you who lie hidden, yet at the very least I could have sent word to her father Fingolfin in Hithlum. But here I stand before her brother with that debt yet unpaid. And though I might be estranged from my wife, I cannot discount the years of marriage we shared, nor the son she bore to me, and so I am still honour bound to pay that debt. Therefore, what could I give of myself that could be set as brideprice for Aredhel's hand, late though it is in the coming?"

Aredhel's head swam with addled thought. What was Eol saying? She thought she heard the words consent and brideprice yet she could not be sure. She could not understand why Eol had said these words, if he had said them at all or if they were just her imaginings. Before she could rectify her confusion, Eol continued.

"For Eighty years I kept Aredhel in my land, safe and beloved until she betrayed our union. Be that as it may, I should still honour the rites of marriage now that I have the chance. Now you commanded that I stay in Gondolin until my life's end yet that is something I cannot possibly do. I refuse not only for pride, but in that my very heart should be broken and I should soon wither and fail, whether I walk free within your bounds or languish in your dungeons. You ask for more than I could possibly give, be it by my will or my spirit. Therefore I submit to you that as brideprice for taking your sister to wife, and as my own gesture to somewhat curb the pride of your stern law, I say that I would elect to remain in your realm for forty years, which is half the time Aredhel spent with me. In all that time I shall be honour bound to remain faithfully in your land with no thought or attempt at escape. However, when those forty years are passed, you shall let me return to my own lands, whether your laws will it or no.  
But if you cannot accept my offer to humble myself to your pride and rule then the second choice is this. That you carry out your law and have me slain this very day. And if you do this, then gladly shall I receive that death, for then I shall know that the Golodhrim truly deserved my hatred, and my spilt blood should curse the very soil of Tumhalad, and that blight should forever cast a shadow of malice over all your counsels hereafter. Those are my choices to you."

Aredhel felt herself sag where she stood, and it took all her ailing strength to remain upright. Her chest pounded and her forehead tingled with heat and rising sweat. Her eyes blinked as she stared blankly at Eol, her mind in a turmoil of confusion and rising incredulity. Eol had not just said what she thought he said. That was impossible. Yet his words came back to her, muffled at first yet gaining in clarity with each waking moment. "I should still honour the rites of marriage," came an utterance, "I would elect to remain in your realm for forty years," came another, "I shall be honour bound to remain faithfully in your land with no thought or attempt at escape," came the statement that truly threatened to floor her. What was happening? Was this happening? Aredhel began to tremble and as she bowed her head, taking deep breaths as she strove to steady herself. She did not want to make a scene by swooning. She was stronger than that. But what Eol had said...The thought was there, forming in her mind as a pin point of light that slowly brightened with the sharpest clarity. But she was afraid to let that thought grow, for in it lay...hope.

But how could Eol give her actual hope. Nay, not after their harsh words in the council room. Not after all the years of knowing his hate and disdain for the Noldor. Yet he had somehow uttered those words that she now fearfully recalled, thinking it were a phantom of hopeful imagination. For to her they were words spoken in a delightful dream. Words spoken by the Eol of her blissful imagining. Yet part of her was sure she had heard right. Eol had offered to stay. He had relented to her will, or perhaps...Yes that was it. He had relented for their son. She almost broke out in wild manic laughter at the notion of placing Eol and relent in the same thought. But even so another idea came to tarnish her newfound incredulous hope. Turgon had not replied. Would he accept Eol's term to stay. She raised her head unsteadily to eye her brother and a spark of relief shot through her as she looked at him. For if it were Fingon or worse still her father, she could not have hoped that they would relent to Eol's will. But Turgon was of a different sort, being less proud and wilful. Her breast heaved with a trembling sigh. It must have been loud for at that moment, Turgon shifted in his seat and then he spoke.

"Your words are proud," he said with flashing grey eyes that evidenced his mood, "and all the more crafty as you seek to circumvent my stern law under the guise of honour in acknowledging the rite of brideprice for my sister."

"My words may seem crafty," Eol replied, "yet what they hope to achieve is sincere."

Turgon grimaced and slowly shook his head. "An exchange of forty years for a lifetime is nothing as that is but a blink of an eye in the life of the Eldar. I might as well set you loose now as that would be no different to the years you have given for your abiding here."

"So it may seem," said Eol. "Yet if you knew me you would understand the heftiness of my sacrifice. For what is forty years to a prisoner who languishes in the darkness of Angband and is set to toil each miserable year in unbearable torture of both body and mind. Nay, you do not know what I am giving up of myself to offer you such a concession. For each year, each week, each day shall be as a grim test of endurance to my fallen spirit. Forty years! Nay, say rather four hundred years shall it seem for me."

"And what if I grant neither choice to you." said Turgon darkly. "I could have you chained and sent to my dungeons, granting you neither eventual freedom nor a swift death!"

Eol smiled hatefully. "Yet death you would still grant me as I would starve myself in protest, cursing you and your kingdom with every fiber of hatred my grim spirit could muster until the day I should wilt and die. And may my death haunt you and yours for all eternity!"

"Do you speak so to daunt me?" said the king. "For you are too lowly in my esteem for me to care."

"I merely tell you my truth," said Eol with a smirk, "and I care not for the esteem of kinslayers!" he added with venom. "But come, enough weighing has been done. What say you to my terms?"

A potent silence then fell upon the hall, with all but the watery rush of Ulmo's fountain that still spoke. Aredhel felt as if she were in a daze. She had gone from the despondency of despair to the thrill of an almost unbridled hope. It were almost an agony for her to hold herself together and remain silent. She still could hardly believe what had happened. Eol...yes Eol of his own free will had submitted to the power of Gondolin. She could not begin to picture the scenario, as moments ago it had been so alien an outcome. Eol had offered to stay and had promised not to flee. The thought threatened to overwhelm her again, but this time it were her emotions that welled through her grateful eyes. And though Aredhel knew that Turgon had not yet given his answer, that did not matter. What mattered were that Eol had relented, moved by some great mercy for her and for Maeglin.

She looked at him now. His face was grim, his eyes were aflame, his fists were clutched by his sides, and his long legs splayed apart in a stance that seemed the very portrait of epic defiance. Yet he had in truth swallowed his swollen pride and doused the heat of his fiery hatred...for Maeglin. Aredhel turned her gaze to him now and saw by his own expression that he was as dumbfounded as she was. But Idril stood beside him, clutching his arm in support and solidarity. Yet the expression upon her face was calm, and she looked at her cousin with soothing eyes, all knowing and gently hopeful. Then Aredhel almost turned to her brother but stopped herself. She could not look at him with pleading eyes to grant Eol his wish. Turgon was king and his decisions ruled all. But in this matter, Aredhel knew that she could not interfere. She would not influence her brother's choice, not with a desperate look or an uttered plea. Both men had to find a solution and live by their decisions on their own with no interference from which could later arise blame. And Aredhel knew and trusted her brother. For even though Eol had taunted and goaded Turgon with disrespectful words, and done this in the king's own hall, she knew that Turgon's wisdom for which he was famed should steer all aright. She had to believe it were so, and Turgon had never failed her. Even as she thought this, she saw through the corner of her eye that the king now turned his gaze toward her. But Aredhel held her own sight towards Maeglin who in turn looked to his uncle with vague desperation.

Finally the king sighed aloud and turned to meet Eol's dark gaze. "A dark elf you truly are," he said. "Dark of mind and purpose. That much is easily read in you. And your genuine hatred for my people galls me, and leads me to wonder why and how my sister took you for her husband. I should think that you might have forced her, and if I knew it were so, then all the wrath of the Noldor should be visited upon you this day. Yet Aredhel denies any wrong-doing on your part, and knowing her I might understand how she could come to accept even you. For she has always rebelled against wisdom, being driven by a fiery passion that is both a strength and a folly of her character. I deem that the very mystery of you, dwelling alone within the dim halls of Nan Elmoth, excited her. For you were something new and unexpected, and that is ultimately what she sought when she decided to leave the wearisome safety of our bounds."

He turned then to Aredhel but his face held a sadness in it. "Yet excitement fades and raw passions ebb through time my sister, and the price for those fleeting infirmities may indeed be hard to pay. And so we are come to this very day of payment Aredhel. Yet it is I and not you who must atone for your indiscretions. For before me stands an elf who unapologetically holds an enemity with my people. Such as he is what you have brought before my throne as your husband, and such as he demands that I set him free, going against the stern law that all who live in my realm abide by. What wise king would do such a thing?"

Turgon turned to look at his daughter and the face of Maeglin. He sighed again, and brought his gaze to Eol. "You flaunt well your sense of entitlement because of your seedy marriage, hoping to cow me to your purpose. And I deem your ultimate resolve is to receive death from those you hate, and from those whom you deem love you no more. Yet in truth I ultimately do not see it so. For Aredhel your wife and Maeglin your son do not want you dead, and I who am king do not want to see your insolence punished. We are all fallen here, the Noldor by our past deeds and you...well there is more to your tale than meets the eye, that is plain. Yet I cannot fathom it and maybe never will. But I cannot ignore it. And I feel some strange sense in the air. We all stand on a knife edge of doom, the result of which rests on my choice for good or for ill that is beyond your purpose or mine."

Turgon leaned back into his seat, his face stern yet thoughtful. Eol's face had changed too, for his smirk was gone and his fiery eyes were dimmed. It were as if the king's words now troubled him. As for Aredhel, she dipped her gaze to the floor, being moved by Turgon's strangely potent words. Many thoughts passed through her mind, of her deeds, and of her life. Remorse, sadness and hope. She looked at Eol. His head was bowed, his shoulders sagged, his face dimmed and his hands unclenched. He seemed the very vision of weariness, of both body and spirit. Yet even so he raised his quenched eyes to the king.

"You know nothing of me," Eol said in a thick voice.

"Indeed, I do not," Turgon replied. He paused then, looking intently at the strange man, glowering almost mournfully before him. After a moment he nodded to himself and sat up. "Here then is my word," he said in a loud voice that had everyone look to him. "Forty years you have given Eol of Nan Elmoth, therefore forty years I shall take and set it as brideprice for the hand of Aredhel my sister. In that time you shall dwell in Ondolinde as guest of the king's household. Yet when those years have past, you shall be free to return to your land."

All looked at Turgon in silent amazement. Then Idril turned to Maeglin and put her arms about him in a warm embrace. Aredhel sagged in relief and felt the tears of emotional release well in her glistening eyes. It was done! What she had dreamed beyond her wildest imaginings had come to fruition. A part of her still could not believe or accept it, but through a dismal trial both Eol and Turgon had reached an understanding. Aredhel raised her face to look at the ornate traceries that were carven upon the ceiling of the king's hall, closing her eyes as she sighed out her relief. She put a hand to her breast and felt the hard length of the hidden dart tucked within the folds of her dress. That halted her feeling of exultation. This was the weapon meant to murder her son. But it also represented his salvation, she thought. For it were Eol's remorse that had him opt for a solution. He would forego his freedom for a time and endure dwelling with her people because she had found it and confronted Eol for the evil crime he would have committed. She still could not fathom seeing him walk the streets of Gondolin. And yet he was giving up more, she realised. He was giving up the shadows and the twilight. Would he wither in the light? Nay, she could not think of that, not yet. Now she would enjoy her relief. Aredhel's inner revelry was paused by the approach of Maeglin who came with open arms and a wide smile. He embraced his mother, whispering in her ear. "We can stay mother, we can stay!" She smiled warmly as she cupped her son's beaming face in her hands.

"Yes my son!" she breathed. "Here shall you know your mother's people in bliss." She kissed his cheek and held him close, looking over his shoulder to Idril who mirrored her smile and gently bowed her golden head.

At that moment, Eol looked up at the king. "So be it," he said. But there was something in the tone of his voice that dampened the spirits of those rejoicing. Idril's smile faded and Aredhel and Maeglin slowly released each other from their embrace and turned to him. Turgon who had sat back in his high seat watching all with an intent eye, now straightened.

"Is there more to be said?" he asked.

"Just this," said Eol. "I accept your decree but for one point."

The king sighed again. "Well?"

"I shall indeed remain in your realm for the time alloted, yet when I leave I shall not be alone. For I can only agree to staying if and only if when I leave, I shall go with my son!"

The hall was silent again with only the splashing waters of the fountain playing in the ear. Turgon said nothing but turned to look at Aredhel and Maeglin. The pair stood aghast, staring at one another with wide pained eyes. "So," thought Aredhel. "Eol is revenged at last." She had been a fool to think it could be that easy to gain all she desired when he had lost everything. He would obviously have one more play up his sleeve. Maeglin's face was contorted in pained realisation.

"Mother?!" he said to her as he released her and took a step back. Aredhel opened her mouth but no words were forthcoming. What could she do or say. She had no more fight left in her and she knew Eol would never relent to her pleas; he had given up too much already. Yet it seemed as if Maeglin understood for his countenance changed. His face became solemn and he drew himself up and turned to his father. There was a rumour of a scowl upon Eol's face yet his eyes were still quenched. "The mean last act of a defeated man," thought Aredhel in her rising bitterness.

"Well," said Eol to Maeglin. "You wanted to know your mother's people and you shall. But you will return to the realm where you belong. Give your father your solemn word on this or are you truly an ill-gotten welp who would defy his father's command and see him slain for it?"

Maeglin looked Eol dead in the eye. His face was dark and his eyes gleamed sharply. A flickering moment passed between them. "I consent to your will father," said Maeglin at last. "When forty years are passed I shall return with you to Nan Elmoth. You have my solemn oath upon it." With that, Maeglin spoke no more but strode the full length of the hall and disappeared into the light of the threshold. Idril went after him.

Eol then turned to Aredhel. "Thus you have won the day lady," he said sneeringly. "Yet blame me not, for do not think I could endure all the dismal years set before me without some recompense."

Aredhel stared at him. She wanted to hate him in earnest. She could uncover his attempted crime to the king and prove his guilt with the concealed weapon, and be rid of this vindictive personage. The rising anger was fleeting however and passed as swiftly as it had come. For Aredhel was weary, and Turgon had spoken truly about a price to pay. She could not have it all...she did not deserve it all. It was enough to see the day end with everyone alive and the prospect of a future laid before them.

"Maeglin has given his word, and I for my part shall abide by it," she answered.

"We shall see," said Eol with a dark look.

"You play hard to the very end, Eol," said Turgon.

"I play fair," he replied.

"Then I hope you shall be fair with me," said Turgon. "For you too do not know what I am giving of myself to assent to your release by going against my stern law that none should leave who have entered the Hidden Way."

"Yet my word is my bond," said Eol, "I for my part shall not fail it."

"To that I too say that we shall see!" the king replied. He turned to Eldacalwë. "Take Eol and house him as an honoured guest." To Eol he said, "You have journeyed far and long with little food and drink. I pray you will accept the hospitality of the palace." Eol looked away with a scowl but nodded his assent. "Very well," said Turgon, and he gave a nod to Eldacalwë who led Eol up the rich stairway to the upper floors. Soon it were only the king and Aredhel left and Turgon rose from his throne and stepped down to stand before her. She looked up to her brother's face with tears streaming down her pale face. Turgon smiled faintly as he brushed away a glistening trail upon her cheek.

"Thank you, my beloved wise brother," said Aredhel. "Thank you, thank you, thank you..." She fell into his arms, clutching him tightly with her ailing strength until she fell into an abyss of utter weariness of spirit and knew no more.

~oOo~

Maeglin's eyes blinked tearily with anger and bright sunlight as he passed down the broad stairway which led to the great hall. He was furious and helpless. Furious at his father for denying him his ultimate happiness and helpless because he had given his oath to lose it. Maeglin chided himself for not seeing Eol's plan beforehand, yet even had he known, there was probably nothing he could do about it. He would be chained to Eol's leash forever, doomed to live in the shadows he now hated. It was early noon, and the square was teeming with elegant ladies and noble lords, milling about at their leisure. The trees whispered in the cool airs, the birds chirped and twittered among their slender boughs, and the towering fountains sparkled their watery delight. A dark wave came over Maeglin as he walked, and he swore under his breath for he now hated Gondolin. He hated the light, the people, the beauty, everything. For he would soon be forced to leave it all and return to the rustic life beneath the tall trees where few had ever trod. He heard gay laughter and merry voices all about him, and some called to him in greeting. But he ignored them all. And why not. Whom should he seek to know and befriend. Nothing mattered here as he were soon bound to leave it all behind. The great city, its wonderful people, his princely title and the high honour that came with it, everything! The sad thought almost broke his heart, so much so that he stopped and clutched at his chest, feeling a rising ache.

"Maeglin!" came a familiar voice that brought only more pain to his stricken heart. He reluctantly turned about to face her. And so she came, gliding across the green lawn that glistened with spray. She reached him and clutched his arms, regarding him with deep concern. Maeglin bowed his head, refusing to look at her but Idril cupped his face and forced his welling sight to her own. Then wordlessly she embraced him and for a moment, Maeglin thought he would weep. Yet he was no child, and the tears that threatened to fall irked him. He broke away from her and turned aside with a swift swipe of a sleeve across his blinking eyes.

"Forty years!" he cried. "All I have is forty years."

Idril looked at him with pain and placed a soothing hand upon his shoulder. "It is hard I know," she said softly.

"You know?" said Maeglin, a little sharply. "What do you know? You the noble lady of Gondolin who is surrounded by the light and beauty of the city. You to whom all the adulation of a great people is given. What do you know of loneliness and meagre means. What do you know of sparse days and hushed nights. What do you know of longing for something better, only to receive it and yet loose it ere you could indulge in it. What do you know, Idril?"

She looked at him sadly, and her hand left his shoulder as she bowed her head. "Maybe I cannot truly fathom your heart's pain but I understand grief and the hardship of sparse days and dismal nights. I who traversed the terror of the Helcaraxe, and suffered the pain and loss of my people upon that dark road. Yet ever I held hope, even when it were deemed a folly. And so our people came through that tribulation." She looked up and Maeglin was sorry, for there were tears upon her beautiful face. "And as you grieve so do I. Yet hope is not lost on me, and much may yet occur in forty years that could change counsels to your betterment."

Maeglin sighed. His anger was fading and he felt a little remorseful for his heated display, for her solemn words as ever, moved him. "I am sorry," he said. "Forgive the tantrum as my frustrations got the better of me."

Idril smiled away her tears. "You have every right to be angered, but you have even more cause to be hopeful. Soon shall you realise this."

Maeglin frowned a little. "I do not see it. My father will never let me go. He braved the evil road of Nan Dungortheb, and shall endure the light of the Noldor which he deeply hates, all so as to retain his grasp upon me. He will never give me up."

"Indeed," said Idril. "Yet in doing so has he not given something of himself also? That he should endure the light he hid from for years uncounted. That he should endure the people he hates. Would you have ever thought it possible. Yet he is here, and shall live among us for a while. That is truly something!"

Maeglin's frown deepened. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Idril's smile broadened. "It is the beginning of a thaw," she said, grasping his arm and leading him down the great highway.

~oOo~

Aredhel slowly opened her eyes. They felt heavy as did her limbs, yet with each passing moment she lightened in spirit, and finally let out a deep sigh. She took in her surroundings and found that she lay in her bed. The window to her right, which looked over the great square was wide open, and a fresh breeze carrying nature's sweet scents breathed in, meandering about her room and clearing her head. The light of the afternoon sun shone golden, and it was warm and comfortable to her renewed senses. She closed her eyes and indulged for a gentle moment in the sweet peace. Then her thoughts began to clarify themselves and she slowly became aware of the day's events. Her easy smile faded and she opened her eyes again.

"Are you rested?" came her brother's voice.

Aredhel turned to it. Turgon was sat beside the left side of her bed. He seemed at ease, leaning back in the chair with his legs folded as well as his arms. His head was bereft of its crown and his brow held no circlet. His raven dark hair shone in the sunlight as it fell in wavy strands about his smiling face. All traces of the king were gone. Here sat her brother of old...her brother of Tirion.

Aredhel returned his smile. "How long have I slept?"

"Not long," he replied. "An hour at most."

Aredhel turned her head to the ceiling. "It has been a trying day," she breathed.

"Indeed it has," said Turgon. "Yet its outcome has surely been to your liking."

Aredhel closed her eyes in silent gratitude. "Is he all right?" she asked.

"He broods in his room," said Turgon. "I gave him one of the best in the palace. The guards tell me he has washed and eaten..."

"The guards?" said Aredhel, turning her head sharply.

Turgon nodded. "I have been all so accomodating this day, but not that accomodating. He may have given his word but he has not earned my blind trust."

Aredhel sighed. She did not know how to proceed in this situation. She still could not truly believe that Eol was a guest in Gondolin. The notion did not seem real. She thought of her life in Nan Elmoth and how far removed they both had been from this scenario. But here they were, now dwelling in the hidden realm of their own volition. For her it was a return home, but for Eol...

"Where is Maeglin?" she asked.

"He is about the city, but do not worry for Idril is with him."

Aredhel felt a little at ease. "That is well," she said. "It is good that he has her companionship."

"Yes," said Turgon. "They have swiftly grown close, and if any could quell his mood besides you, it would be her. You need not worry about your son."

Aredhel smiled and brought an open hand from under her covers. Turgon leaned forward to hold it. "Thank you brother," she said again. "You will never truly know how grateful I am for your decision this day. I still cannot fathom how you relented to Eol. Please tell me why?"

Turgon looked at her for a moment and then let go of her hand and sat back. He seemed thoughtful then. "Truthfully, I do not understand it myself. But then there is little that makes sense in this matter. What made you cleave to such a man Irissë? I know you always went your own way in thought and deed, but to take a husband such as he."

"Why not?!" said Aredhel, a little annoyed. "Should I have wed safe when that was not my way in life? There were none in Ondolinde who moved me so, that you know well. And I could not force myself to love. Whom of the Eldar has ever done so? And even when I first met Eol, I felt nothing but gratitude in his rescuing of me. Yet as time passed my feelings changed in a manner I had never known. It were a great passion for the both of us. Maybe it is the defect in my character that father always alluded to. For what princess of the Noldor should harbour manly desires and pursuits. "Hunting and reveling in the company of men are not for you," father would always say, expecting me to be tame and docile. Yet it is the strength and hardihood of the House of Finwe that resides in me. A fearlessness that cannot be cowed. Is that not the pride of our people?"

"Yet look at the folly of our deeds that brought us to Middle-earth," said Turgon. "Such also is the wilfulness of the Noldor."

"Then such is in me and you," she replied. "And so it was in Feanaro. He had a fire of purpose that made wonders for the world and yes at a grave cost, but such is life. Of all the men I ever knew, I fell in love with Eol. I do not regret it and never will. He understood me and my passions and they became one with his own. I loved the thrill of living in that strange land with this strange man. I could neither fight my feelings nor deny them. I might go so far as to say we were both fated for each other. And though things might have been doomed to go awry with such a pairing, we would not be the first. For Nerdanel and Indis wed for love yet things did not end well. Yet blame as they may the deeds of Finwe and Feanaro that estranged them, they still would not deny the truth of the love they shared. And if Finwe had not wed Indis, you and I should not be."

Turgon looked at her solemnly and finally nodded in defeat. He sighed and clasped her hand again. Aredhel watched him for a moment. He seemed a little haggard. Wearied from confrontations and deep thought. It pained her that her deeds should make him so. Yet she needed her question answered.

"I have to know brother," she said softly. "Tell me why you spared Eol, and why you agreed to let him leave when you have granted such to no other."

"I let you leave," he replied with a grin.

"Because I am your sister," she countered. "If you could not trust me with your secrets then who would you trust. But Eol lives to hate our people. What made you relent?"

Turgon leaned back again. "I do not know for sure. There is more to him than meets the eye, for good and for ill. Yet I do not think the ill in him is evil. He has a festering sadness that speaks to some distant tragedy in his life. Perhaps that is why he chose to live apart from others of his people, and why he is so grim in mood. Yet he is noble and that is a truth which cannot be denied even if he tries to hide it. I think you see that side of him more than anyone else, and so you came to love him. I glimpsed it too, and I pitied him. Yet more still is that even though all my thought was against his eventual release, my heart almost cried out to let him be. I have never felt anything like that before. It were as if my counsel were upon a knife-edge of doom. To go one way would lead our fates to disaster, and to the other...well, I do not know. Eol might indeed have come with evil intent, but it all changed when you cried wait! From then on the darkness in him was lifted, and my heart felt lighter. I think his fate is not in my hands as king. His doom is woven with yours and mine and maybe my very kingdom, yet for a higher cause that we cannot yet fathom."

Aredhel listened intently to her brother's strange words. She remembered the terrible weight of spirit that bore down upon her as a strangling will that she had to fight to save Eol from himself before he could enact that horrific deed. Her hand went to her breast. The dart was still there, hidden within her dress. She was relieved, for if Turgon had found it and understood Eol's dark purpose, he might have sung a different tune to her now. But her luck still held. She would burn it at the first chance she got.

"So, you shall put your trust in fate rather than to crude counsel," she said.

Turgon smiled. "I shall," he replied. "Unless you would have me do otherwise."

"Nay, nay," cried Aredhel."

"Then say rather that I am putting my trust in faith."

"Faith?"

"Yes. Faith in Eol as in my own purest judgement. I do this as he is the husband of my sister, and therefore not my enemy though he may think otherwise. For if he came to love one daughter of the Noldor, then perhaps he can come to love her people too, if given the chance."

Aredhel looked at her brother. He was trying to tell her something. "Eol has a subtle mind," she said. "He will note any attempt to coddle him so as to gain his trust and goodwill."

"Then let it happen naturally," said Turgon. "And I think it will whether we help it or not." He sighed. "Well, things will..."

"Go as they will," finished Aredhel with a cheeky smile.

"Ah, there is the pert sister I know and love," said Turgon as he leaned to her and kissed her brow. He stood up. "I shall let you rest a while more," he said, stretching his limbs. "I have done my part for your happiness, but the rest is up to you and Eol." He turned and made his way to the door but upon taking hold of the silver handle he turned back. "This decision may end up being a wonderful triumph or a greatest folly. Yet a chance for us is given, and I pray that we all shall make the most of it."

With that, he opened the door and was gone. Aredhel lay back in her bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. Her mind was still trying to fathom this new reality that she faced. A reality that had seemed an impossible dream to her but hours ago. She was back in her city, her son now strode the ways of Gondolin with Idril at his side, and Eol son of Elmo now dwelt in the Palace of the King with her. She could not believe it, but it were all true. Sure, there would be trials ahead for her family. Maeglin still had to come to terms with his eventual return to Nan Elmoth. Sure, there would be clashes between Eol and Turgon, let alone between Eol and the people of Gondolin. Sure, there would be many questions and attitudes towards Aredhel herself from friends and aquaintances, from which both judgements and hopefully, understanding should arise. Yes all these things now lay before Aredhel and her family. But still, that family was intact and the great shadow of doubt that had lain over it was lifted. The sun's afternoon rays passed over her window and a shadowy coolness came over the room. But Aredhel did not mind. She felt warm and not because of the sheets and blankets. She felt warm with hopeful and grateful thought. The greatest of hurdles had been surmounted, and the truth of it were as plain as glorious day.

Author's Commentary:  
Here is another chapter to this story. It's gone real leftfield I know but that was the plan all along. I really hope you will accept the tale anyway. Big shout out to Anamia 1, Ana-Marija, and aimzus. Thank you guys for your support. I am truly sorry for the long delay, but life does that sometimes. Hopefully I will upload a few chapters in quick succession, if you guys are still reading this thing. 

Well, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.

Thanx!


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